Learning How to Fly
by PaBurke
Summary: Summary: Adult birds push their fledglings out of the nest to teach them to fly. John Winchester parents by a similar philosophy. Dean finds himself far from home and struggling to succeed.
1. Prologue

Learning How to Fly

By PaBurke

Summary: Adult birds push their fledglings out of the nest to teach them to fly. John Winchester parents by a similar philosophy. Dean finds himself far from home and struggling to succeed.

Spoilers: Supernatural AU-ish, Stargate Atlantis Season 2 (generally), The Long Good-Bye (specifically), The Tower. I am completely ignoring what happened to the Mid-way station in SGA canon.

Warnings: Swearing, angst

Disclaimer: None of this eye candy is bringing me money, I'm not a pimp.

Distribution: spnbigbang lj, The Nook, Crossroads lj,

Prologue:

Jack O'Neill closed the door behind the distraught young man and breathed out. The last twenty-four hours had been chock full of surprises and this was him talking. Vampires: It got funnier every time he thought about it. On Earth. He was lucky to be alive. He was lucky that some Hunters had been close by since his team had been far away. Those revelations would be accepted over the beer and hard stuff when Dean returned. Jack had managed to wring a promise out Dean that he would return and Ithen/I get drunk. Jack would fake inebriation somewhat. He needed the intelligence. He didn't feel all that bad about manipulating the son of an old friend-at-arms.

He rubbed his eyes, sighed and then climbed up the stairs to the bedrooms. Charlie's door was opened, but no surprise there. Jack leaned against the wall directly outside it. "You are a complete bastard, John Winchester."

"I know."

"You deliberately picked a fight with him."

John didn't answer him.

"You blamed your own injury on him." Jack hoped like hell that Winchester had not been deliberately too slow to make the injury in the first place.

"Nothing else would have made him leave. He had you to go to right now."

The blistering words floating through Jack's head were normally reserved for a snakehead or Kinsey. Winchester would just shrug them off, but it wouldn't help Jack get all the information he needed. "Why?"

"No one can get him further away."

How the hell had Winchester learned that? "Do I need to worry about a security leak?"

"Demons."

For real? "Cryin' out loud." Jack rubbed his eyes again. "Why are you doing this?"

"You saw Dean's intelligence and creativity. The demons do too. He's managed to go above and beyond every other human before him in the Hunt. He's got enough connections to spread his success around."

"You broke him."

Silence for moment. "Dean's stronger than any of us. He's alive, but he won't be for much longer if he's near me."

"Get the hell out of my house, Winchester. You are not welcome." Jack marched down the hall. He needed to get clean sheets. Dean would need some place to crash. He had thought that he had been the worst father in existence. Now he knew that Winchester held the title, or at least tied him for it.

"Bastard," he muttered again.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

John Sheppard awoke in the hive ship with the rest of his team and three members of Team 4. He didn't know Team 4 very well and wondered if they were going to freak out. This kind of situation was one that a person had to experience to see how well the Marines trained and the kind of personality of the individual. At first glance, only Michaels and the leader, Staff Sergeant Ohlman, were awake. Sergeant Dean Michaels was the Marine transfer that had come on I_Daedalus'_ /I first trip to the Pegasus Galaxy. He had stayed behind while John and the rest of the senior management had reported to Earth. Stackhouse had dealt with any adjustments long before John had returned to Atlantis. John hadn't even known that Michaels had been a good fighter until he had managed to stay standing after ten minutes of fighting with Ronon (they didn't just spar). Someone had conned the night-shift patrol guy into the contest with Dex, and Michaels had withstood the assault rather well until the gathered crowd distracted him and Ronon had knocked him out. Carson had grumbled for an hour about too much testosterone in males who should know better.

Michaels had refused to spar with Ronon a second time despite the man's repeated requests, insults and egging. The way Ronon kept at the man interested John. Either Ronon really wanted more of a challenge and wanted to train Michaels to be better, or he thought that Michaels would be a bigger challenge the second time around than most assumed. John had been pretty close to ordering Michaels to train with Ronon; Atlantis would gain if they had more grunts like Ronon. Every time John had tried to find Michaels, the man had vanished and duty had distracted John from his pet project.

Michaels was currently busy in front of the spider web bars drawing on the floor. Interestingly enough, the man had stripped out of his jacket and his boots. Michaels finished his drawing, slid the Sharpe® into his coat pocket and put away what looked like an old-fashioned compass. John watched as Michaels pulled the lining out of his boots and revealed tubes of a dull-colored liquid. The plastic, flimsy tubes from the right boot were reddish, from the left, bluish.

"What are you doing?" Ronon asked.

Michaels grinned, a quick, bright flash. "An experiment. Think of it as a Wraith roach motel." He stripped the paper backing off the tubes and placed them carefully (respectfully) on the floor, crisscrossing the colors. The extras, Michaels piled in two very separate piles.

Two short statements and John knew that every word was designed to irritate. As predicted, Rodney snorted. "And just what I_kind_/I of experiment should be done in a situation like this?"

"Told you. Wraith motel."

"What is this 'wraith motel'?" Teyla asked.

"They can check in, but they can't check out."

Teyla looked just as confused, but John waved her quiet. Rodney was about to take center stage anyway. As expected, Rodney stood and stomped toward the soldier. He always used aggressive body language in an academic argument.

Michaels stopped him cold as he pointed at Rodney's feet. "The seal might not work but the combination of chemicals will blow off your foot if you step on them."

Rodney jumped back. His jaw dropped as he watched Michaels put the now empty lining back into his boots. "You walk around with explosives wrapped around your ankles?"

"It's only explosive if you mix them," Michaels explained as to a child or as Rodney normally explained things to his lab techs, patronizingly and condescendingly. Rodney bristled. Michaels continued on as if he didn't notice. "I read the reports of the Wraith taking our packs when they capture us and wasn't about to be left without I_something_/I to work with so I hid some."

John glanced at Ohlman. The Marine nodded reassuringly. "He's our demolitions expert. Michaels is creative and efficient. He knows everything about making anything explode."

"And burn," Michaels added wistfully. "Sometime a good fire is just the thing you need."

It was John's job to know what standard equipment every soldier carried through the 'Gate. "How come the boot explosives aren't given to everyone?"

Michaels shrugged. "This is my own special mix and application. Didn't think I could sell it to a CO."

"Didn't try," Ohlman and John chorused.

Michaels looked genuinely surprised/pleased that someone finally wanted his stuff. John wanted to curse whatever idiot CO Michaels had approached with his work and had turned him down. At Atlantis, things were different. They would use every advantage, even a Marine mixing his own explosives.

Michaels laced up his boots and unlatched his (non-regulation) leather wristbands. He moved the knives to the outside of the leather and carefully packed the extra red tubes against his right wrist, blue against the left. Michaels obviously subscribed to the Dex and Ford method of hiding knives. When Pacosky and McKay were looking a little less peaked, Ronon could throw the knives at the prison control unit. They would figure out a way to escape. Right now, Michaels slid into his jacket. John noticed that he had several bulging pockets and wondered what kind of surprises awaited them. Only after he was completely dressed did Michaels join the others along the far wall of the jail.

He looked over his own handiwork with an approving eye. "Hey McKay, wanna bet on whether or not the wraith motel works?"

Rodney humphed. "That thing won't do anything but make them kill us in extremely unpleasant ways. If they even notice it."

"Could fail," Michaels admitted. "But are you willing to put money against the invention of a jarhead grunt? If you lose, at least you'll have the satisfaction of dying being right."

"What are the odds, beside zero?" Rodney snarked. "What do I_you_/I think are your odds of succeeding are?"

Michaels jerked his head toward Ronon. "'Bout my same odds in winning a hand-to-hand match against Dex."

"He knocked you out the last time."

"Than you have nothing to worry about."

John watched Ronon's grin at the exchange. When (slight if) they got out of here, Michaels would be forced to spar with Ronon again.

"Hundred dollars," Rodney said.

"Five hundred," Michaels countered.

"Three hundred."

"Four hundred and you're not allowed to ask me about the marker and the drawing. Ever. Final offer."

"You're on. As if I'm interested in a child's drawing. I don't understand why you wasted your time with it in the first place."

Michaels shrugged. "We'll see. Anyone else want a piece of the action? Sir?" he asked Ohlman.

Ohlman shook his head. "I've seen you hustle, Michaels. I don't bet against you, you have a tendency to win in the end."

Michaels looked a little put out and glared at his teammate who had been silently observing. "Pacosky, you told him about the pool table."

Pacosky grinned at him, completely unrepentant. "Someone had to warn him. He believed me after you cleaned up at poker. Every time."

"I've told you," Michaels said. "I'm good with the ladies, Lady Luck top of the list."

Pacosky laughed at him.

Ronon and Teyla glanced sharply at the web-bars and everyone else grew silent. Soon enough, a quintet of wraith appeared, led by one of the higher rank. They had run out of time. The SG members all stood as the leader approached and retracted the bars. They all saw as the leader walked into the cell and then I_bounced off_/I something invisible. The next millisecond, the floor exploded beneath their feet. Every wraith was a sudden amputee and the SG members sprung into action. Ronon killed two, Teyla one and Michaels charged the leader until he fell onto yet another of the prepared liquid explosives. The charge took off the thing's head. Michaels didn't wince at the bodily fluids covering his chest.

Michaels rolled with the momentum coming to a standstill outside the cell and waved to the others, even as he was pouring something from a cloth bag onto the growling, surviving wraith. "Hurry," he hissed. "Don't step on anything." They all obeyed and were already running the direction of the hanger bay (there was a reason for the classes teaching everyone the general layout of a hive ship) as Michaels struck a match and dropped it onto the bodies. He was four steps away when the entire level shook with the explosion.

"Was that necessary?" John called behind him.

The Marine was completely unrepentant. "I can't let them know that the Seal works."

The group was silent as they ran through the maze. With Ronon and Teyla in the lead, they avoided all the wraith foot soldiers that were rushing to the cellblock -barely. Then they passed through a large intersection.

"Dex!" Michaels called as he pointed to the ceiling. "Gimme a lift."

"I'm going to get us a ride," John kept on running. "Ronon, bring Michaels with you when you're done." Michaels had already proved that he could keep up with Ronon. He expected to see the two men by the time he had managed to requisition an escape dart.

Ronon weaved his fingers together into a stirrup and let Michaels step onto them near one wall. Michaels pulled the tubes out from his right arm and attached them to the ceiling in a jagged line to the other wall, then Ronon walked Michaels back to the beginning so that a series of multi-colored X's spaced the overhead expanse. Michaels dropped to his feet and edged closer to the hanger bay and waited. Ronon waited at his side.

"Throwing knives," Ronon guessed.

Michaels had his arms crossed as he was thumbing something from the inside of his belt. "That too, if you want, but I've got throwing stars."

When the intersection was full of wraith, Michaels flung his hands out. Ronon threw two knives (that hit exactly what he had been aiming for) and then the ceiling exploded and started falling on the rest. Michaels had created a cave-in and from the way the hive ship shook, he might have accidently hit something important as well. As expected, Michaels had completely blocked this route from being used. Ronon liked that kind of multitasking.

This time, Michaels and Ronon ran the length of the path to the hanger bay without any stops or any interference from foot soldiers. They met up with the rest of the teams on a flat piece that was obviously where the staging wraith armies stood to be picked up by the darts.

"That one," Pacosky pointed at a moving dart making its way toward them.

"Michaels," Ohlman ordered. "Do some damage."

Michaels started to unload his pockets into McKay's hands since he was closest.

"My hands are very important," Rodney immediately argued. "I'm important. I can't be blown to bits on accident."

Michaels smiled like a shark and pulled out his matchbook. "I don't make mistakes with my equipment, doc. And I never, ever explode early."

Pacosky snickered.

Michaels struck a match and lit the rope ties to the cloth bags. Then he started dropping or tossing the bags off the edge onto wraith and darts below. He had really good aim. The hanger bay shook with every bag. Michaels managed to drop all eight of the lit bags before John picked up the crew using the scoopy-beam and flew into space. Sheppard would race to the nearest stargate, punch in an address where he could put Ronon and the rest back together. They would leave the dart and would be on their way home.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Elizabeth Weir walked quickly through the hallways of Atlantis looking for Major Lorne. The major had reported that he had found the missing Marine outside, in a corner of the never used docks. Carson was just waiting for Elizabeth to finish with Michaels, then he would order Lorne to drag the Sergeant back to the infirmary. Michaels had slipped out of the infirmary before his post-mission physical –and debriefing- had been completed.

There.

Lorne nodded at her as she approached.

"Where is he?"

Lorne jerked his head. She had walked right by him; all that was showing was the tips of his boots. Elizabeth edged around the corner, knowing that Lorne was following with his finger on the trigger of his P-90. The lack of intelligence on the man in front of her worried them all. How had he been here so long without anyone noticing such huge gaps in his personnel file?

"Ma'am," Michaels drawled. He was cleaning guns and sharpening knives. Despite knowing that most of his weapons were not regulation, she was disappointed that he wasn't filling the now-famous colored tubes that she had heard so much about. Why was he cleaning a six-shooter revolver that looked like it belonged in an Old Western?

"You missed the debriefing where Ohlman and Sheppard sung your praises." Rodney also had expressed some choice, less complimentary, words about this man.

The Marine flushed slightly. "I was doing my job."

"Sheppard wants you to make an excessive amount of your liquid explosives and to have them be standard issue to off-world teams, after, of course, a complete training in how to use them. He also is putting a recommendation into your file."

"You don't want to do that, ma'am. It would reflect badly on you in the end."

"Because your name really isn't Dean Michaels?"

Michaels had less tells than national and intergalactic diplomats that she had met but Elizabeth still knew that she had surprised him.

Michaels huffed. "I'm going to demand a refund from Ash. Fool-proof alias, my a—foot."

"I had asked for your record from Earth base after we met while I was… under the influence of Phoebus. The SGC finally found something."

"You knocked me out then," Michaels interrupted. Curious, he did not want to discuss that.

"You spoke to me. It sounded like it was in Ancient."

"It wasn't." Quick. Certain. Forceful, like she had only heard from him when he had been speaking to the alien entity housed in her body.

"And you did something to Phoebus with your words, something that she had to stop."

"She stopped it." Michaels mused as he ruffled the back of his head where she had hit him.

"You were easy to find, standing over your partner."

"Pacosky gets me into all sorts of trouble."

"You were trying to protect him."

"Fine job I did."

"She was trying to hold on to my body. She was thinking for a while there that she was strong enough to keep it, but you did something that loosened her hold. Sheppard mentioned that he heard someone skulking around the infirmary and speaking in a different language when Phoebus finally left my body kicking and screaming. You came back to finish the job." Elizabeth had a sudden idea. "Were you the one who burned their original bodies?" Social Sciences had thrown a fit at the destruction, but no one could prove arson. Everyone knew that it had to be arson, but an accelerant had not been found. Elizabeth would have to make sure Michaels hadn't been involved in the investigation. Arson investigation would have been delegated to the Marines.

"How's General O'Neill? Is he dead?"

The non-sequitur threw her. How did he know? "O'Neill is in the hospital but recovering well."

"He got jumped again?"

"…Yes. He knows about you," Elizabeth realized. Whatever O'Neill had seen in this young man impressed him enough to fast track him onto Atlantis.

"Promised to take care of any additional background checks," Michaels proved her correct. "Wanted me in the Air Force but even rebelling from my father, I had to follow him into the Marines."

"We're keeping you," Elizabeth said as she made the decision. "So you might as well give us your real name."

The man considered her. "Winchester," he said finally.

"And the rest of it?"

Winchester smiled. "Dean Michael Winchester, ma'am."

Well, that explained how he answered to his 'fake' name so easily. His full name added a dimension to the man's character that she appreciated. She had been half afraid that he was Trust or something worse. He wasn't even a life-long conman. O'Neill wasn't a name that just anyone could drop; everyone knew that she talked to the general at least once a week during their check-in and she Iwould/I check his story. She wondered if Winchester was one of the few aliens that had gained sanctuary on Earth. Why else would O'Neill vouch for him and construct such an elaborate cover-up?

"Sergeant Winchester, you should be forewarned that Dr. McKay is on scaffolding investigating the… ah… markings you put on the ceiling of the hallway to the residential area."

Winchester jerked. "He's not dismantling it, is he?"

"No. I've ordered him not to. He's only allowed to look, not touch and his team knows it and will hold him to it. From what Sheppard and Ohlman reported, your… ah… Wraith motel works well enough that it would keep the bunks safer, the wraith would not be able to walk into the hallway, they would have to transport in. We appreciate that kind of protection and initiative."

"How'd he see it? It's not something he'd notice."

"I believe Teyla pointed it out to him. I don't understand why he just doesn't ask you."

Winchester grinned. "He lost a bet."

And Rodney would not want to admit to anyone that he needed answers from a Marine. He would rather suffer in silence and figure it out on his own. "Yes, well, he demands to be present when you make the others."

"Others," the Marine looked… grumpy.

"Sheppard was very impressed and wants one around the stargate and protecting the officer quarters and the ZPM. He's compiling quite the list."

"You're going to let me graffiti Atlantis?" Some part of Winchester found the idea hilarious.

"I'm going to order you to, actually."

"Order?" With the way he repeated the word, she knew that she had just lost the easy camaraderie and trust that she had been working for.

"I won't let McKay get too close to your work, but he will be there."

Winchester said nothing.

"Oh and Ronon has demanded throwing stars. I'm sure that he will be approaching you for training on them."

Winchester's grumbling didn't hide his slight smile. "He just wants an excuse to kick my ass all over the mat when he can't do it immediately. Again."

"I heard that you held your own rather well."

"Still lost the fight."

"After an hour and trashing the entire gym. Not another person can claim the same."

"When you order the throwing stars for Ronon, add some for me too," Winchester changed the subject again. If she didn't know that the two men had put the gym back together again, she might think that he was trying to slip out of responsibility.

"You can do that yourself when you order all your materials for your explosives," Weir turned the tables on him and made him think.

She could see him turning the idea around in his head. "When you say 'your explosives,' are you just talking about the tubes? 'Cause my pack had a lot of fun stuff in it. And the wraith are worse than airlines at returning luggage."

"I'm also talking about your cloth bags. Ronon liked those. The rest of what you think you need, just requisition the bare minimum. After you test them in front of Sheppard and McKay, they might or might not choose to include them. All of these are your inventions?"

"Yes'm."

There was a crafty light in Winchester's eyes that she didn't like but chose not to question at this point in time. "We will be suspending all 'gate activity in four hours, as soon as Team 7 gets back from their mission. At that point, you will be… marking the floor in front of the stargate. You do have all the needed supplies?"

"Yes'm."

It was only as she was leaving did Elizabeth recognize the look in Winchester's eyes. For all intents and purposes, Winchester was a researcher who had been denied experimentation. He probably had many new ideas that he'd like to test and Elizabeth had just offered him a seemingly limitless list of materials to choose from, since no one knew what had been in Winchester's pack. Elizabeth would have to discuss a mainland lab to both Teyla and Sheppard. She didn't want an explosives lab actually on Atlantis. She was pretty sure that Winchester would take full advantage of such a place and opportunity.

"An explosives lab?" Dean looked from one woman to the other. He had arrived in Elizabeth's office after she had called him. He seemed to expect the director to rescind her order about his painting. The offer of the explosives lab completely floored him. Elizabeth enjoyed the brief crack in his shield.

"Yes." Elizabeth answered. "You need a place to experiment and I'd prefer it not to be on Atlantis. Teyla's people have the room and are willing to build it for us."

"Mine is a proud people," the native took over the explanation. "We would like to perform a job and trade for the service, instead of always being forced to accept the charity of Atlantis."

"No offense," Dean waved at Teyla. "But on the mainland? I don't like to fly and most certainly can't fly myself. I'd need a pilot every time."

"We'll put you top of the list for the gene therapy."

"No," Dean argued. "I I_hate_/I flying. That's the other reason I joined the Marines and not the Air Force."

"How do you endure the mission trips in the puddlejumper?"

"Going? Gritting my teeth and humming Led Zeppelin. Returning? That one's normally bad even when we aren't being chased. Ohlman trades missions with some of the other leaders so that we are walking through the gate, not flying. He's pretty effective, as we just have a part-time pilot as a part of our team. Captain Bass doesn't even come with us most of the time. It's the three of us and a scientist most of the time."

"You'll have to get over your fear. I am not having an explosives lab on Atlantis."

"Why not?" Dean wasn't whining, really, he wasn't. "I'm sure the Ancients had some sort of lab set up for weapons experimentation."

"Most of their weapon experimentation was completed on other planets," Teyla reminded him.

"My explosives aren't I_that_/I effective."

"Colonel Sheppard reported that you managed to destroy the hive ship that Team 1 and Team 4 escaped from."

Dean perked up at that. "Really?"

"Really." Weir smiled at him. "Just try not to outdo McKay in the size of explosion."

Dean looked momentarily downcast. "I won't be able to function the whole time I'm on the mainland, recovering from the flight."

"Fear of flying is a control issue," Weir said. "You'll get the gene therapy and then I'll have Sheppard train you. I think you'll do better when you are flying yourself, but all this will happen after you paint the floor in the gateroom." If the gene therapy failed, she'd figure out some sort schedule, but thus far those with the ATA gene were smart, smart alecks and a general pain in her ass. Dean would fit right in. Elizabeth knew that it was a completely unscientific theory, but she'd put money on Dean's ATA gene therapy working.

"Yes'm," Dean grumbled. "I'll be in my room preparing. Radio me when Team 7 returns."

Dean stood on the stairs facing the Stargate shaking the paint-mixture can needed for the Seal of Solomon.

This whole situation was totally surreal.

He was surrounded by impatient, unbelieving scientists and their monitoring equipment, though most of the regular personnel had been relieved of duty. Sheppard, Weir and Ohlman didn't constitute scientists, but they were among the curious that had the rank to spy. Dean was suspicious that Weir thought Ihe/I was an Ancient in disguise and the whole crew knew the boner she had for anyone Ancient. That would explain why she was letting him get away with so much. Pacosky was his go-fer so that Dean wouldn't be interrupted in the middle. Currently, his friend was placing orange cones, marking the extent that the scientists could hover. McKay complained loudly at the distance from the 'gate, but there was no way Dean would let them any closer.

He had a scientific audience for a supernatural undertaking.

Dean glanced at his watch. Thirty seconds until he had mixed it for a full seven minutes.

This situation was ridiculous to the extreme.

Also extreme was the list of places that Sheppard wanted a Seal painted. If he had his way, Atlantis would remind Dean of Bobby's place every time the hunter/Marine turned another corner. He would have to get a message to Missouri asking for more paint; she knew all of the ingredients and had helped him develop this special recipe. Missouri had been his friend since the time Dad had dropped him on her doorstep with a broken leg at age eleven. He might even get some cookies out of her. He'd mention it when he requested some of his other materials he'd need for his new lab that only she could procure.

Him.

Dean Winchester.

With an explosives lab, paid for by the government.

Sammy would so be rolling on the floor laughing if he knew, but hiding from Sam was just as important as hiding from everyone else, if only to protect him.

Dean set down the compass, then paint can and pried it open north-south-east-west. He had a lot of painting to do. He dipped the clean and purified brush into the 'paint' and got to work.

It's a good thing he was never prone to performance anxiety.

He had agreed to painting the Seal near the Stargate because he had legitimate concerns about demons following him to Atlantis more than because of any order of Weir's. His father had chased him away on purpose. The demons could track John and Sam Winchester but for some reason, they couldn't sense Dean even though he was considered as dangerous to them. The demons feared John's training and tenaciousness, Sam's mind and blood and Dean's inventiveness. It had taken Dean a year to figure out all that and by that time he had completed Basic Training and the specialized explosives training that privates should not have been able to join and then O'Neill had placed him on the Atlantis team.

His father had been scared for him and scared that Sam would be killed in the crossfire. The demons had found out about the three 'Colts' that Dean had made in his teens and really didn't want a human, and especially a hunter, making weapons that could kill anything. The original Colt that Elkins had showed John when Dean was eight was bad enough. Dean had made it a mission to make more after the Winchesters had managed to kill Azazel with it six months later. Making friends with Elkins behind Dad's back proved to be one of the smartest things Dean had ever done. Closely followed by the tour of the gun factory. Dean had started making weapons and followed that up with his true love of explosives that could kill any evil he came across and he was damn good at it. Too good. John had been selling Dean's inventions since he was ten and he had only improved in the meantime. The demons had been targeting Dean for years, but it had gotten really bad right before John Winchester had picked a fight with his son.

Dean had saved Jack O'Neill's life on accident and then had disappeared into the Marines under his supervision. Dean had to wonder if that was something along those lines that John had planned all along.

Before he started experimenting again, Dean wanted some assurance that the demons wouldn't be able to find out about it before he had something to combat them. He had never seen evidence of demonic activity in the Pegasus galaxy and he wanted to keep it that way. The Wraith were bad enough.

Dean finished his third circuit of the outer circle of the Seal of Solomon and heard whispers of 'energy spike' from the scientists. Then he started on the hard part and completely tuned out the audience. He remembered stretching several times and being sore. He knew that his knees hurt and his hand was cramping. He was tripling up on all the sigils. He was making this Seal as strong as he knew how. He was in a I_zone_/I. He could feel the building electricity and the power of the Seal. He was almost done.

He finished the last sigil like an exclamation point and nearly blacked out. (He would never do anything girly, like If_aint_/I.) The wave of power flowed over him; the riptide dragged Dean out of the Seal and near one of the orange cones. In some back corner of his mind, he made note of it so that he could ask Bobby if anything like this had happened to him. Or maybe it was an Atlantis thing.

Scuttlebutt had it that Colonel Sheppard had long conversations with the city.

I_Untrue_./I

Huh?

I_A gift, is it not?_/I

Dean grinned stupidly. Only a Winchester would consider a protective seal a good gift. Now his subconscious was chatting him up. Or he was chatting up his subconscious?

A tall silhouette blocked the light.

"Sammy?" Dean called out… croaked, really…

John Sheppard went through Dean Michael I_Winchester_/I's file again. He didn't like what he saw. How much of this was true? How would he know?

Lorne walked into his office and quickly figured out the problem. "Winchester?"

"Yeah. What if he's a sleeper agent?"

"A sleeper agent would come from someone other than O'Neill."

"How can you be so sure?"

"'Cause the same person that sent Winchester out here, sent you."

John found it hard to argue with that logic. O'Neill had figured out his character and potential in a short amount of time. Why couldn't he do it for Winchester as well? "Why didn't O'Neill tell anyone?"

Lorne rolled his eyes at that. "Sir. Did you spend any time with O'Neill?"

"Not much. He told me that my clearance was upgraded and then let me wander around an Ancient outpost."

Lorne didn't look surprised. "He didn't tell anyone that he was letting you wander around the outpost that most governments don't know about. Why did you agree with Weir that Winchester should paint around the Stargate?"

"It worked. Though if I'm not around Teyla or Ronon, I can half convince myself that I was imagining it. But it worked. I might not trust Winchester, but I'll use him. I really like his explosives."

"Understood and agreed."

"But?" John prompted. He liked Lorne, he was a great 2IC. He trusted Lorne and the man did have the experience from the SGC. He would listen to the other man's advice.

"You're coming across like a certain original member of the expedition about you."

"Sumner."

"Yes, sir. Something to think about."

John would consider it. In his own defense, John's Air Force jacket had contained all of his flaws and positive attributes; Winchester's jacket omitted vital parts. What was best for the people of Atlantis and the city herself? A search of Winchester's room hadn't turned up anything but it would be easy enough to hide something in a little traveled area of Atlantis. Not to mention that since part of Winchester's job was to patrol the little traveled parts of the city, Winchester would be one of the very few in a selected area. "Just keep an eye on him. And especially visit his explosives lab as often as possible. I don't like him being unsupervised so often."

"I will."

Dean awoke to a soft, incessant beeping. He opened his eyes to see the infirmary. Again. This might be his least favorite part of the city.

Oh, hell.

Dean sighed even as he started striping off all of the wires attached to his body.

"What do ya think you're doing?" The Scottish accent was thick and perturbed.

Dean grinned, "leaving."

"No, you don't. We don' know what happened to you to cause you to faint."

"I didn't faint," Dean immediately argued.

"Of course not," Dr. Beckett threw up his hands. "Marines don't faint. They black out, lose significant amounts of blood… I_fall asleep standing_/I, but they don't faint."

"Damn straight." Dean threw off the last of the wires and swung his legs around. "I'm hungry. I'm leaving." His stomach growled on cue.

Beckett looked thoughtful. "If all the energy readings that Rodney was griping over came directly from I_your body_/I…"

"Whatever you're thinking, doc, don't. I'm just hungry after graffiti-ing the gateroom." He was not about to become a damned experiment for McKay, if he wasn't one already.

"If you can convert sustenance into energy fields… you must consume huge amounts of food, all high sugar."

Dean didn't want to think about that or what Ohlman and Pacosky would say if questioned about his diet. Bobby had once complained that Dean was really a Trickster with the amount of sugar he ate and the ideas and pranks he came up with.

Dean stood and was pleased with how few stars floated by his head. He was surprised that Beckett was helping him with a firm hand on his elbow. "No stupid orders to stay in bed?"

"If I am correct in my theory, you do need food. A lot of it and immediately. By assisting you to the mess hall, you'll get it sooner than if we stood here arguing until I caved."

Dean frowned. Contrary Winchester that he was, he really would have preferred it if the doc was trying to get him to stay in bed. He didn't want them thinking that he was extra special or, heaven forbid, that he wasn't even human.

"I will insist upon a wheelchair."

"Do-oc," Dean whined. "I'm not a damn invalid."

Beckett fixed him with a stern glare. "If you don't, I will tie you to that bed and send a nurse for I_healthy_/I food. If you get in the chair, I'll get you foods more to your liking."

Dean sat in the wheelchair. "You don't play fair, doc." He paused. "Would it be a pretty nurse?"

"No, he wouldn't be. I dinna like my patients undoing all my work as soon as they wake."

"I'm not that bad."

Beckett pushed Dean into the mess hall, which was humiliating beyond belief. If Pacosky saw him now…

Damnit. Pacosky was grinning at him like a loon, but there was a warning in his teammate's eyes and Dean followed his gaze to where scientists were staring at him like lions eyeing a limping gazelle.

Damnit. "Hey, doc. I won't be able to stay here long, will I?"

"Nay."

"And I'm not healthy enough for any questions when I go back to the infirmary."

There might have been a slight smile to the doc's voice when he said, "Aye. I'll protect ya from the aggressive scientists."

Dean grunted. "Fifteen minutes?"

"You cannay eat all you need in fifteen minutes."

"Watch me."

"If you take less than twenty minutes, I'll let them in the infirmary."

Dean grumbled but said, "Deal," loud enough to be heard. Beckett parked him next to Pacosky and went for a tray of food.

"Winchester," Pacosky nodded. So his true name was well known around Atlantis now. Scuttlebutt was faster than a trip through the wormhole.

"Hey," Dean watched him, but his teammate didn't seem too upset about the alias 'Michaels' that he had used since Boot Camp. "Anything going on?"

"I've been debriefed three times since you hit the ground in such a girly fashion. They wanted to know if you've ever done something like that before." The insult was instantly forgiven since Pacosky also handed over a candy bar that Dean quickly unwrapped and bit into.

"You're my teammate, you were supposed to catch me," he said with his mouth full.

"You didn't warn me that you were changing sexes in front of everyone."

"I wanted to be like you, bitch."

"Ronon caught you when you suddenly went sight-seeing in your head."

"So, I didn't actually hit the ground… no thanks to you."

"He's looking for payment. Wants another sparring round."

"Damnit. The doc's not going to let that happen anytime soon." Dean liked fighting the alien; it was a challenge, on par with fighting Sam since he became the size of Sasquatch.

"Neither am I." The Marines turned to see John Sheppard join them at the table. A half step behind him was McKay, Zelenka, Ronon and Teyla. "I've got that list of places that need prettied up like only you can," Sheppard reminded. His sharp eyes went from Dean's pale face to the wheelchair he was sitting in. "How are you doing?"

They all hear a thud under the table, presumably someone getting kicked. "That wasn't one of the questions I wanted you to ask," McKay exploded.

Dead silence as the members of the premiere team stared at the outspoken doctor. "I mean… yeah, that's important. How soon can he do another one? What?"

Dean was chuckling, trying to smother his humor a little. "As soon as I get out of the Marines, my goal will be to become as rude and obnoxious as you."

"Yes, well, it helps if you're always right," McKay answered without thinking. "What?"

Sheppard ignored his friend and shook his head at Dean. "Don't encourage him, we've finally gotten him to the point we can take him out in polite company."

"Very funny," McKay grumbled.

Beckett slid a tray full of food in front of Dean, who tossed away the empty wrapper and dug in. Beckett picked up the candy wrapper with a frown and glared at Pacosky, who had mastered an innocent look that always reminded Dean of a five year old Sammy.

Teyla spoke before any of the scientists could interrogate him and she, of course, was interested in knowledge of a more personal nature. "Where did you learn to paint that… what do you call your symbol?"

"It's a seal," Dean answered. "I watched it done when I was five and copied it a couple hundred times before I was eight. I think that was the first time I did it without looking." A demon had followed Bobby home and he had been desperate.

"Who taught you?"

"A friend." Dean's eyes dared her to ask for more information. He had been very careful to never mention the names of the hunters that had helped raised him and Sammy. Several years of childhood had been spent more in the company of other Hunters than his father. Of course, Sammy and Dean had been enrolled in the Singer School for Hunters nearly every school break. Not that it was official or anything, but Sammy and Dean had saved up for Christmas presents for Bobby every year. Most years they had been in South Dakota to deliver them.

"Of your family?" Teyla didn't back down- much, but she unknowingly opened a wound.

"Nah. Mom died when I was four and Dad could and would piss off anyone who couldn't help him or who's helping pinched his pride. So, more of a friend to me." And to Sammy.

"That's quite a tightrope," Sheppard said.

Dean shrugged. "That's the way he is."

There was another thud under the table. Dean really liked it that McKay couldn't directly ask the questions himself. He knew that McKay only followed the agreement because he didn't want to turn over the four hundred dollars that he owed to a Marine. Dean was pretty sure that McKay rarely had had to pay money for being wrong and didn't want to pay up against someone who didn't even have a college education.

"Has anyone recorded you painting the seal before?" Zelenka asked.

"Nah. Why would they?"

"Did you pass out the other times you did it?" Ronon asked. He looked both serious and teasing. Dean was relieved that he hadn't lost the tall man's respect.

"Nope. But I never tripled up on it before."

Zelenka tilted his head. "That makes it stronger?"

"Think so. Couldn't hurt."

"Are you planning to triple up the other seals on my list?" Sheppard asked.

"Wasn't going to. Don't have enough paint, for one. Also didn't think they needed it."

McKay kicked Sheppard and pointed at the computer in front of him. Sheppard was going to have a sore shin before this interview was over. "What all is in the paint?" Sheppard obliged.

Dean didn't. "This'n'that. And most of it isn't available out here. I'm going to have to order it from Earth."

"Yeah, 'bout that," Sheppard leaned forward. "You mix it yourself or order it from a specialty store?"

"Either. Kinda. I was going to ask a friend to do it, 'cause I don't have the time and it's another thing that really shouldn't be interrupted."

"You should make it here," McKay blurted out. "When we analyzed the contents you left in the paint can, there was an ingredient we couldn't identify." And they probably got three of the ingredients wrong, but he wasn't going to clarify for the scientists. Yeah, he could just imagine explaining grave dirt to McKay and Zelenka.

Dean took great pains in ignoring the genius. "Did anyone walk on the Seal? 'Cause I was going to protect it."

Sheppard shook his head. "Elizabeth- Dr. Weir noticed that you had a water resistant, clear topcoat sitting there and figured that you had planned on covering it to protect it from all the foot traffic. We thought about doing it ourselves but since you had a procedure for everything else, you get to do it as soon as Carson says you can. Weir wants it ASAP though."

"Me too," Dean agreed with the command. He looked down as his half-empty plate. He suddenly couldn't eat any more. "Uhm, I had an extra paintbrush in my pants pocket?"

"It's sitting on top of the can you left in the gateroom," Ronon reported. "Everyone's working around it."

"Oh, good. I'll do that next."

"No, you won't," Beckett argued.

"It won't tire me at all," Dean told the doctor. "And it needs done."

"If you don't need to complete it yourself," Teyla spoke, "I would be honored to follow your directions."

Dean shrugged. He couldn't think of a reason not to. The topcoat shouldn't help or hinder the power of the Seal. "Why not?"

"Good," Beckett and Sheppard chorused. Sheppard was already radioing Weir with the information; McKay was radioing his staff to gather the necessary monitoring equipment and meet in the gateroom.

"Did you have similar symptoms when you painted the seal on the ceiling?" Beckett asked. "Sheppard and the others reported that you had no such ill-affects when you made the seal on the hive ship."

"Nah, the hive ship one was with a marker and the ceiling one, I kept having to stop so no one would catch me doing it. Quick and dirty, both of them. I should probably redo the one in the hall. And I normally don't make Seals that big either, I just didn't want there to be a way to avoid it when anything came through the gate."

"'Preciate that," Sheppard said.

Dean nodded. He was finished with the food and was more tired than he wanted to admit. He looked at the Athosian. "Let's get it done."

She nodded serenely and stood. Everyone else followed suit.

"Where's my compass?" Dean asked suddenly.

"In the infirmary," Beckett answered. "With the rest of your personal affects."

"Actually," McKay dug into his own pockets. "It's right here."

Dean nearly fell out of the wheelchair snatching the compass out of McKay's hand. He checked it over and it seemed fine. "What did you do to it?" he demanded.

"Now I'm good enough to talk to?" McKay sniped.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

"Nothing… really. I just ran a couple tests on it. For being a compass, it has quite a bit of residual energy. What I don't understand is how it would help you at all on a hive ship, it isn't as if you can have a magnetic north in a place like that?"

Dean glared.

"I didn't do anything destructive to it. The energy didn't seem to dissipate while it was hooked up to the machine. As far as I can tell, it's in the same condition as when you used it."

Dean dropped the compass in his lap and whirl the wheelchair around and toward the 'gate. Getting speed out of a wheelchair was like riding a bike; once Dean had learned how, he never forgot. He had learned how during races with his brother and he hated losing those. Dean hid his grin at leaving everyone else behind, or making them jog/run to catch up with him.

"He's fast," Dean heard Teyla mention.

"I'd imagine he learned how during one of the multiple incidents that he broke his legs. He has had quite a few bad breaks," Beckett answered.

Damn loud mouth with the most advance scanning equipment available. There was a reason he had never made friends with doctors. That and every hunter that Dean had conned into taking him on a hunt had hated doctors as well. Even more, they hated having to return Dean to John Winchester in less than stellar condition, so Dean had visited more ER's than he would have if he had hunted with his father regularly.

Dean wheeled into the gateroom and was suddenly subject to several pairs of staring eyes. Why had he agreed to paint the damn Seal in front of the stargate? Protection, right.

He was still rethinking that choice.

"Sergeant Winchester," Weir greeted him. "It's good to see you awake."

"Yes'm," Dean muttered even though he hated that she was reminding them all of him passing out in front of an audience.

The rest of the group stumbled in behind him. Was Dean imagining things, or was Weir smirking at the spectacle McKay was making of himself?

"Rodney, is your team ready?"

McKay huffed and puffed his answer. "Yes, they are. Or they should be. Where are they? I told them to get here."

"We're here," some scientist Dean didn't know spoke up, but she was pretty. Dean made note to introduce himself to her as soon as possible.

Teyla approached Dean with the water sealer jug in one hand and the paintbrush in the other. Dean was feeling lazy, so he handed the jug to Ronon. "Shake."

Ronon accepted both the jug and the order without complaint.

Dean glanced at his wrist and realized that he didn't have a watch. Glancing around to the others and Sheppard was already removing his and dropping it in Dean's lap. Dean set the timer for three minutes and then set the breaks on the wheelchair. He stood slowly, but that didn't stop Beckett from putting a hand under his elbow again. Dean yanked away (and didn't regret it too much). "I'm fine."

He waved to both Pacosky and Teyla. They followed him onto the platform. Dean checked the 'compass,' but he already knew where they would start. He positioned Teyla inside the main circle at 12o'clock. Pacosky, he put directly across from her.

He addressed his teammate first. "You'll be pouring the stuff. A fine dribble in the middle of the line, but enough for her to cover both sides. Like you did for me when we were laying the firewall. Remember?" Pacosky nodded as expected, part of the reason that Dean had chosen his friend for this duty. "Ma'am, just brush it up and then down, all the way. We only have one chance at this. Don't let it puddle, but have Pacosky give you more if you need it. He'll fold it over in a steady stream. Don't step on any of the painted sh…stuff yet. Stretch if you need to, 'cause you'll get a break after you finish the outline, but you'll have to do the inner part all at once."

"I am ready, Sergeant Winchester."

She was much too formal for him. He had a sneaky feeling that she was doing it intentionally so that he would say, "Dean, or Winchester. Either's fine."

"And please call me Teyla." She smiled at him and though her expression did not hold a hint of triumph, he still felt slightly manipulated.

Dean checked his watch. Forty seconds. Good. Dean approached Ronon with a hand out. He said thanks quickly as he took the jug and shook it himself for thirty more seconds. He also murmured a prayer a voodoo hunter had shared with him ten years ago. Mardi Gras in New Orleans: good times. When he had finished both shaking and the prayer, he handed the jug to Pacosky and stood back.

His wheelchair bumped the back of his calves in a not so subtle hint. Dean knew that he would never be able to see the end of the project if he stood the whole time. That didn't mean that he would cave gracefully to Beckett. He grumbled as he sat and watched.

Teyla had the natural grace and rhythm to seal a Seal. She was in no way… lessened by being the only person on her hands and knees in the room. If she was self-conscious, it didn't show. Pacosky was a good helper, had steady hands, was rarely impatient and was completely unruffle-able. All were good qualities if you were the person helping the explosives expert; Dean liked working with Pacosky.

Dean knew that he was not feeling as well as normal; he should be really antsy but he wasn't. He hated waiting. He should be doing this himself, but he didn't have the energy to take the paintbrush away from Teyla. Why was he so tired?

Pacosky and then Teyla completed the outer circle and looked to Dean for direction. He stood to offer it. "Start here," at the top of the Seal, "and work your way backwards around. You're covering it as in slices of pie. Pacosky will dribble enough of the sealer down for a 'slice' and step back, then Teyla will even it up and make sure all of the 'slice' is covered. Avoiding the art will be more of a challenge, but please don't step on it if you can help it. Are you going to stretch now? 'Cause you won't get another pause."

Teyla looked to Pacosky to answer. "Ma'am," he said. "You've got the hard part. We go when you say go."

"Perhaps a little stretching would assist," she reluctantly admitted.

Dean waved her in the direction of a semi-empty hallway. "Don't take too long," he warned.

She nodded as she glided away.

Dean stood guard at the top of the seal and waited. Only when Teyla returned to the platform and began again did he sit in his chair. He was relieved to note that neither Teyla nor Pacosky were hurrying. They were just as concerned with their quality now as they were when they had begun.

Finally, they finished. Dean heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Ten more hours," he told Dr. Weir. "Then anyone can tramp over it."

"Understood Sergeant. Go rest."

Beckett turned the wheelchair around and pushed Dean to the infirmary. This time, he didn't complain as he was assisted back onto the gurney. He fell asleep immediately.

John Sheppard didn't like being a suspicious bastard about the people under his command. The paranoia didn't fit his personality. He didn't like being compared to Sumner. He watched Winchester sleep and considered recent events. Winchester hadn't had to paint the seal on the hive ship. If it hadn't been for the stupid symbol on the ground, Winchester would have merely gotten another glowing recommendation in his file for his explosive experiments.

Winchester hadn't balked at all at the idea of painting the seal around the Stargate. In fact, he had agreed without hesitation. John believed that the seal would help keep Atlantis safe. Winchester believed that it would help keep Atlantis safe. John weighed that knowledge against the secrets Winchester kept. They almost evened out on his mental scale.

Until further notice, John would keep an open mind, but he would have Winchester watched.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"General O'Neill," Elizabeth greeted the face on the screen with genuine pleasure. She had been hard pressed not to check in with Earth several days early, but if Winchester was telling the truth, such an event would be noticed and draw dangerous attention to the Marine. To protect Atlantis, she had had Ronon shadowing Winchester and some extra corpsman in the infirmary. They were friends, but Ronon's loyalty was to John Sheppard not the mysterious Marine. "I am glad to see you up and about."

"I'm good. Are you all good?"

"We are doing well."

"Weir, I hear that you're checking out the specs on one of the weapons I sent you." Jack always did cut to the chase.

It was easy enough for Elizabeth to translate the spy-speak. "I was concerned that I wasn't informed beforehand."

"Need to know."

Elizabeth fought the urge to bite her tongue. "I do need to know. Next time, please give me a bit of a heads up."

Jack shrugged. "I'll see what I can do, Elizabeth."

"Speaking of your weapon, it needs some more ammunition, the experimental kind."

"Send me the list," Jack ordered. "I'll see to it."

"It's on the datafile, encrypted."

Elizabeth watched as Walter handed the general a USB drive. "It's on there, sir. Only copy."

Jack pocketed it. "Consider it done."

"We found the weapon to be most effective," Elizabeth added. "We'd like the new ammunition ASAP."

"Understood. I'll see what I can do."

General Jack O'Neill accepted the data file from Walter, pocketed it and completed his on-base duties of the day. He trusted Walter to remove evidence of the file from the mainframe. So he had the only copy of the 'mysterious experimental weapon' he had sent to Atlantis. People –especially the NID and the Trust- would be curious and want the information. He had two different people try to pick his pocket that day, like he was some desk-flier that hadn't finished some real duty, like he didn't know that the SGC wasn't totally secure.

That was an annoyance.

The problem was dropping off the radar to read the files. He knew full well that only one person had the encryption code and he wasn't about to lead the Trust and several others to the source. He knew that some of the people tailing him had been taught by Ihis/I teachers.

Jack knew those teachers and the kinds of men that were their students and one thing connected all the others: they didn't believe in the supernatural. They also didn't have Carter to cover their tracks. He had two very big edges over his opponents. If he didn't outwit them, Jack would have to return his shiny stars to the President.

A couple of phone calls later and a spell (since when did he do stupid things like spells and Daniel had better not find out), Jacob Lloy was driving in a rusty old pick-up to the middle of nowhere Nebraska. It took him a number of hours to get to his destination. He walked into the Roadhouse slouching and with a smirk. In that way, he resembled the very young man who had told him to come here. Jack knew better than to be alarmed at all the sharp-eyed gazes following him. Men and women like this could sense fear, but they couldn't hurt him like others had, so he had no worries.

He walked up to the pretty, feisty brunette (about his age) behind the bar and asked for Ash. She frowned and with the same sharp-eyed glare as her patrons, examined from head to toe. Jack grinned in response and waited.

Finally Ellen (it could be no one else from Dean's description) yelled, 'Ash!'

The drunk in the corner jerked.

"IAsh!/I" She yelled again.

This time the mullet head stood and swayed. "Ellen?" he asked, blurry.

"Man's here to see you."

Jack nodded at this man as if he were one of the lackeys in the Pentagon or as Daniel nodded on a million different planets to a million different natives to keep them from killing SG1. "Jack," he introduced himself.

"Ash," the drunk replied. "Who are you?"

Jack grinned for real this time as he held up the USB drive. "I've got a message here for you and one that you need to decode for me. You up for it?"

The man shrugged. "I'm always ready, for business or pleasure."

"No," Ellen stepped between. "I don't know you. I want someone else in there with you two."

Jack thought about it. He trusted that Dean wouldn't spill the secrets of the universe to someone as visually undependable as the drunk. And he was packing a zat. If it looked at all like Dean was about to reveal some secrets, Jack would zat them and leave them sleeping as he left the Roadhouse. "So be it."

"Caleb?" Ellen called.

A strong, young (mid-thirties) man turned his head and nodded at her. Ellen waved him over. Caleb was about 5'5", but muscle-bound. He looked like he had done his share of back-alley bar fights. Jack approved of his clear eyes and steady hands. Why couldn't this be the computer genius?

Ash waved to a strong young man. "This is Caleb. Not that I can't take care of myself or anything."

Jack nodded and let Ash and Caleb preceded him to their destination. Ash led the way up to his 'Dr. Badass' room. Jack could smell weed through the closed door.

Calab was watching him with a hunter's eyes. Jack didn't mind. He tried to look like he didn't have several aces up his sleeve. He didn't convey any of his apprehension at having the man at his back as they entered the drunk's sanctuary.

Ash walked straight to his computer and the redneck throne-like chair behind it. He held out his hand and Jack placed the USB drive in it. Ash handled the MacGyvered computer as if it was a lover. When the encrypted file appeared on the screen, Ash smiled. "So Dean found a good use for the program he traded for."

"'Pears so."

Jack felt a little better when it took Ash twenty minutes of confident keystrokes to unlock the files. There were only two, which was more than Carter could decipher. (She had theorized that two files were inter-coded to increase the encryption.) One was a word document and the other a video file. Ash opened the video first.

Dean appeared on the screen: a wall of Atlantis behind him, though that would be obvious to only one who was familiar with the city. He was grinning.

Ash pressed play.

"Hey Ash. If Caleb or Bobby isn't the hunter that Ellen assigned for your protection –you wuss- change it over now. Caleb is preferable."

Ash grumbled and glared at the two men smirking at him.

"So, have O'Neill print out the list and give it to Missouri. She'll be able to find everything if she doesn't already have it. I stored most of my experiments at her house. Caleb, O'Neill needs a tail. Because he got jumped –again- Ash's fool proof identity for me wasn't nearly good enough. And now you owe me, 'cause I paid for Ifool proof/I. Caleb, I'll have something new to trade for every time you keep O'Neill out of trouble. He knows about our side of the tracks, but doesn't have the in-depth stuff. I managed to talk him into a tattoo, but not much else. It would be a bad thing if something got their hands on him. Thanks, Caleb, Ash, I'll see you later."

"Man," Ash breathed. "Dean's getting a governmental research lab? Better hope that the demons don't hear that gossip."

Jack didn't like that Ash said that out loud. He didn't like Ash realizing it at all. He glanced once at Caleb to see if he was a current danger, but the short man was glaring at Ash as well. So Jack pulled out his Zat and rendered the man unconscious. Jack pulled the man out of his chair.

"Help me get him out the back before Ellen sees him."

Caleb snorted. "It'd be best to tell her. She'll catch us and deliver an ass full of buckshot before we get him out to the parking lot."

"Fine," Jack sighed. "I'll go tell Ellen and you put Ash into my truck."

"I get the heavy lifting?"

"You've got the better knees." Caleb lifted the druggie with envious ease. Jack frowned. "So where is Missouri that I need to meet up next?"

"Kansas."

"Of course." Jack picked up Ash's computer and powered it down. It should come with them. Jack glanced around, making sure that he didn't even leave fingerprints behind. It was 'clean.' Time to go.

Once Jack and Caleb explained that Ash's loose lips would endanger Dean, Ellen reluctantly agreed that Ash should be shipped out. Caleb promised to be involved in his final destination. Luckily, Jack always carried around the SGC disclaimer papers in case of an accident. Caleb signed fast enough that Jack wondered if Dean had prepped him for this. On top of getting Ellen to agree with his plan, Jack also finagled a fun date-date out of her with the excuse that he would update her on Ash's health once he was at his final destination.

Jack called the Antarctica infirmary ('cause he trusted the doc there) and told him about all the drugs currently in the drunk's system and then asked for the best way to keep the man out of commission for a week. The doc hemmed and hawed for a while before giving Jack answer. Daniel was in Antarctica with the doctor and butted in on the conversation. With eyes that promised Jack that he was going to spill all of this at the earliest opportunity, the geek suggested using an Ancient stasis chamber. Teal'c showed up to take the drunk off Jack's hands and the general thought that the hard part of this trip was over.

Then he knocked on a door in suburbia Lawrence, Kansas. A big, colorful African American woman opened the door and glared at him.

"You're late," she said. Then she tilted her head. "You poor dear, you do live in interesting times, general."

Jack was dressed in civies. There was no way she should have been able to guess his rank. His first thought was 'Dean should have warned me.'

"Where's the fun in that?" Missouri Moseley asked. She smiled at Jack's riding partner. "Caleb."

"Ma'am."

"This will be good for you. You'll be less of a pawn. You will make a difference there."

Caleb took the psychic's words in stride. "Good."

Missouri turned her attention back to Jack. Jack was ready for her this time. He kept his mind on one track, the easiest one he knew: Name, rank and serial number. Name, rank and serial number. Name, rank and serial number.

"Very well," Missouri waved Jack into her house. "I won't pry. You are very good at protecting your thoughts."

"Practice, ma'am."

"I imagine so." She smiled, "here's a question I rarely have to ask: why are you here?"

Jack handed over the sheets of paper that they had printed out at a copy shop in town. "Dean said that you'd be able to gather this."

Missouri scanned through the papers. "That poor boy, so far from home and anyone who knows. Caleb, there's two trunks at the bottom of the basement stairs. They're all packed and ready to go. I'm going to have to go shopping. He'll need fresh herbs. He'll also need some encouragement. How good of a cook are you?"

Jack blinked. "Ma'am?" He liked to cook, especially if it was on a grill.

She apparently had read the answer in his head. "I have cookie dough in the fridge. The cookie sheets are in the cupboard to the right of the stove. I should be back by the time the last batch of cookies are out of the oven."

Missouri grabbed a bright red and orange scarf and her purse which Jack bet was as heavy as some of his mission packs. Then she was out the door. Jack looked at Caleb.

The easy-going man shrugged. "Fresh cookies. Dean owes us something."

Jack agreed. "And if we eat them before Missouri gets back, she won't hit us with a wooden spoon."

Caleb laughed. "We can hope."

Dean looked at his bank account e-mail with surprise. It contained four hundred dollars more than expected. McKay must have wired the money into it with the very first minute of the wormhole opening to Earth. He had paid his bet and made sure that Dean knew. Dean hadn't expected that. McKay went up in his estimation.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dean had been cheerfully flirting with yet another female member of McKay's crew when the doctor dropped a datapad in front of him. Dean glanced at the monitor, saw the many complex mathematics equations and frowned. "What?"

McKay shooed the lovely Dr. Paula Webster away. "How do you make the… Seals?"

"I paint them," Dean enunciated to the man. He had been fearing this conversation since the hive ship but had hoped that he had dodged the bullet. Apparently, the doctor had a long memory and a huge curiosity. Dean was doomed.

Unless…

Dean could confuse and confound and just annoy the man until he left without the answers, because Dean knew that McKay would not accept any answer that involved the word 'magic.'

McKay tapped the computer screen. "But how?"

"I just do."

"Are you telling me that you don't know why they work?"

"Do you know why force fields work?"

"Of course." McKay opened his mouth to further explain and Dean interrupted before he could get a good head of steam.

"Bad example. Well, I don't. I just install them."

"You know all of the components. You should know why they work. I've studied both the one around the gate and the one protecting the barracks. Both emit low levels of energy, but I assume that that would change once a wraith is trapped inside. There is no way that we are going to bring a wraith to Atlantis for those experiments, so you are going to have to tell me why they work."

"Dude, I don't think anyone knows that."

McKay looked a little bit horrified. "But, but…"

"How many elevator operators know why what they're installing works?"

"I should hope all of them."

Dean grinned at him. "Dude, are you seriously that naïve? They make those things dummy-proof. And the Seals are practically dummy-proof too."

Rodney considered that. "So anyone can make them?"

"Once they have the equipment and the training, I don't see why not," Dean said carefully. He hadn't the faintest idea of where Rodney was going with this, but he was slightly scared.

Rodney hmmed and made some notes on his laptop. He looked up. "Where's your computer?"

"I'm a grunt," Dean delighted in telling him. "I don't rate my own computer."

"Humph." Rodney thought about his datapad for a moment. "I'll send a datapad with the equations for force fields to your room. Study it and get back to me when you see something that matches your experiences."

"Yessir."

The genius left without saying 'goodbye.' Dean was cursing himself. How the hell was he supposed to know if science equations matched with his magical experience? How the hell was he supposed to understand McKay's equations?

Dean made the decision then and there to avoid the chain of command as much as possible.

Atlantis was a big, empty place; how hard could it be?

Considering that every member of Atlantis had an earpiece and a locator via the earpiece, Winchester could vanish off the radar when it suited him. That fact had worried John greatly until one of the female members of the science team whispered to him that Winchester was a very skilled and friendly lover that didn't 'kiss and tell.' She mentioned that McKay had humiliated a scientist (in this case, male) who had been pleasurably occupied during the night hours when McKay had decided that he needed the man I_immediately_/I. Winchester was liked because McKay never found out if they had had company, not even with all the information at the genius' disposal. John found it amusing that Winchester used his ability to disappear for sex. He felt better after a series of women approached John to provide an alibi for him at certain points of Winchester's tour of duty. Boy, did that man get around and apparently he was still friends with the females afterward.

John systematically covered various areas where the Marine could be hiding. He wasn't in the Marine rec area or the gym. Winchester wasn't in his bunk (and how the hell had a grunt managed to score a single room? Chances were slim that he'd be in any girl's room since he had a single.) John had ordered McKay to put a sensor on the South Dock that Winchester was known to haunt. It took McKay three days to figure out that Winchester had bypassed the sensor to keep his privacy. Luckily, Winchester told no one about his capabilities, or Rodney's scorched pride would have made him outthink the Marine before now. As it was, Elizabeth had him working on several high priority projects that kept him busy. John was just waiting for Rodney to have a spare minute, or need a distraction from a current problem. When he did, Winchester would be tagged, like wildlife, and John would know where he was whenever an explosives expert was wanted and not just needed.

That hadn't happened yet, so John was hunting Winchester the old-fashioned way. He was hoping that when Winchester figured out that the city was helping him, the Marine would finally cave to Weir's plans. She thought that John was taking care of it as she had ordered. Sometimes, John wasn't sure that he wanted Winchester to be cornered into having the gene therapy. It would give the man more power over Atlantis. With all of Winchester's secrets, John didn't totally trust him. So far, Winchester managed to miss three gene therapy appointments with Carson, mostly because no one had been able to relay that information to the Marine in question in time. Finally, Ohlman hinted to John Sheppard that the explosives expert didn't like to miss meals. It made sense given the show in the gateroom and Carson's medical diagnosis. So John arranged for the whole team to have a long lunch the next day. If John sat in a dark corner and worked on paperwork, Winchester could come and go without him noticing and had. John decided to sit out in the open and see if that netted him his slippery fish.

It did.

Winchester spied John before John spied him, as always. The sergeant grabbed a sandwich and a handful of the 'chocolate chip' cookies, which actually tasted pretty close to cookies made on Earth. Obviously, they were a favorite within the city. Then, Winchester sat in the dark corner John had previously utilized and scribbled in a notebook. John made a mental note to snag an extra laptop from Rodney's group for the Marine and worked his way over to the man. He had recruited Ronon's assistance and the big alien was covering the exits. Teyla contacted Carson and informed him primly that the cookies were available in the mess. Rodney was pretty sure that Winchester was monitoring their calls and John wanted to know how he did that. Why was Elizabeth so determined to trust this Marine? John normally used Teyla and Ronon as barometers of human behavior and both of them thought that Winchester was good for Atlantis. And then there was Lorne's argument about the weight of O'Neill's sponsorship.

The Marine had one thing in his favor: Winchester really, I_really_/I did not want to fly and, before he realized that John was provisionally for Weir's plan for flight training and the landside explosives lab, had spent over an hour in John's office explaining why it was a bad idea. John hadn't smiled when Winchester had boiled down his reason to 'I'll freak out like a sissy bitch.' A person couldn't fake that kind of sentiment to a pilot. John didn't understand aviophobia and had been rather unnerved when Winchester had threatened to share it with him. It was impossible for Winchester to do that.

Wasn't it?

Considering that McKay knew of no logical reason why the Seals worked, John gave the Marine the benefit of the doubt. He still had a job to do though. Winchester needed the gene therapy. He was getting the gene therapy now. John set his food tray beside the young man. Teyla sat across the table. Winchester looked up and his eyes narrowed. John leaned his chair back so it balanced on the back two legs. It easily gated the walkway.

"So," John started cheerfully. "Are you going to surrender gracefully? Or is this going to get ugly?"

"I don't fly well." Winchester was just repeating himself now

John shook his head. "How did you survive the I_Daedalus_/I trip?"

Winchester turned an interesting shade of white. "Three weeks of hell. Worked myself into exhaustion. Pacosky is a good friend."

Why had Winchester put himself through that? Why had he requested the transfer out here? O'Neill would have cheerfully kept him at the SGC. "Do you want me to call him over to hold your hand?" John teased.

Winchester relaxed a bit and rolled his eyes. "That won't be necessary, sir."

"Good."

"There ye are," Carson stood at John's side. John let his chair fall forward to let the doctor through. Carson smiled at Winchester as the Marine sighed and rolled up his sleeve. Thirty seconds later, Carson was sliding the needle out of Winchester's arm.

The lights in the mess hall dimmed and something surged through John. When he woke up on the ground, a medical team was hovering over him. He must have been out for a little while. He rolled his head to the side. Carson and Winchester were on the ground being cared for. It hurt like hell but John rolled his head the other way. Through all the tables and chair legs he could see McKay and Lorne also on the ground being taken care of. Bates, the Marine John had chosen as Winchester's puddlejumper teacher, was also down.

"What happened?" he asked the nurse taking his blood pressure. James was her name, wasn't it?

"We're not sure. It only affected gene carriers in the mess and Winchester."

"Winchester had just gotten the therapy."

"It takes hours for it to take affect," James argued.

"Not this time." There was a weird buzzing in the back of John's head. Atlantis was noisier than normal. "It was localized to the mess?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"My girl's got a new favorite."

The nurse reared back with a look of confusion but that was nothing like the protestation John heard in his head. "Sir?" The nurse looked around for someone to come take care of him.

"It's fine. It's fine." He tried to wave a hand and almost succeeded. "It won't happen again."

"Sir, you can't possibly know that."

John squinted for a moment before forcing his body into an upward position. "The city was making sure that Winchester would be one of her own."

James looked thoroughly unnerved and didn't try to keep him down. She must be new to the city. John smiled and it barely hurt. "Don't worry about it. Can I get up now?"

"Move slowly, sir, and let me know if you get dizzy or light-headed."

"No problem." John propped himself up and did a self inventory. He felt pretty good actually. What had Atlantis done?

The noise level in the mess increased a decibel or three. Rodney was awake. A quick glance around revealed that everyone else was as well. Lorne was being stoic and Bates was trying to get a date out of his nurse. That seemed like a Winchester thing to do. Winchester was too busy fighting with two different doctors and the tension in his body started to worry John. It translated into fight or flight to the career officer. He had seen the Marine's real fighting scores and his bouts with Ronon. He did not want Winchester to panic now. A shadow fell over John and he looked up –way up. "Ronon, get Winchester out of the corner. Take him to the infirmary, but get him out of that corner."

Ronon nodded once and stepped over anyone in his way. A quick glance around and then Ronon braced his arms on the long table that was blocking his way and shoved it into the center of the mess hall. Two emergency medical personnel had to jump out of the way. Ronon ignored all the commotion and held a hand out to Winchester on the floor. Winchester accepted the hand and hefted himself to his feet. The doctors protested.

"Hey," John yelled. Blessed silence. Then Rodney realized that it didn't pertain to him and immediately started talking again. "Ronon is taking Winchester to the infirmary. You can all poke and prod him there. Understood?"

Everyone nodded and then Beckett murmured to his attending physician. She stood and announced, "All personnel who… felt the affects of the surge are to go directly to the infirmary. We have tests to complete."

Well, that just messed up John's day and just about everyone else's too. Why had Atlantis singled out Winchester? How had Atlantis singled out Winchester?

John hovered at Carson's shoulder. Like John, the doctor had recovered, enough to take control of his infirmary and to preside over Winchester's medical tests. The third time that Carson bumped into him and glared, John smiled, "So Doc, can we blow this joint? I wanna take him down to the Chair and see what happens." If John understood the medical-ese being spoken, they didn't have a clue why all of the gene carriers fainted, but they were pretty sure it was a one time deal.

Rodney had been near enough to eavesdrop and shamelessly spoke up. "If you're taking Winchester to the Chair Room, I am going with you. And I'm bringing a science team with me."

"It's not a damn picnic," Winchester grumbled. "I think I'd rather stay here than become the animal in the zoo again."

John grinned at the beleaguered Marine. "It's not that bad. Everyone has an audience for their first time in the chair. First several times actually. Now that I think of it, if you're in the chair and it's not a life threatening, apocalyptic situation, you will be observed. We have to judge how well you interface with Ancient tech and Atlantis."

Winchester didn't look reassured. "Yes, sir."

There were advantages to giving Marines orders: most of the time, they followed them. John smiled bright and happy. Atlantis burbled in the back of his head, she was happy too.

"So Doc," John repeated. "Can I take him?"

Carson stepped back and sighed. "I dinnea have a reason to keep him here. I want him observed for the next 24 hours. That stands for the rest of you. All of you are on light duty. You must be in the presence of a non-ATA personnel at all times. If I find you alone, or unreachable," this glare had an equal measure for both John and Winchester, "I will have the Marines drag you back here. Is that understood?"

"Yes." "Yes, sir."

John led Winchester out of the infirmary. McKay was at John's side, talking to his science team via his earwig. John wasn't surprised to see Ronon waiting right outside the doors. Carson I_et al_/I would have tossed him out, but he obviously didn't want to go far.

Ronon looked over all three of the men and fell in step next to Winchester. "You good?"

Winchester nodded. John said, "yeah." McKay paused in his orders to Zelenka to complain about a horrendous headache and missing his lunch.

"Wanna spar later?" Dean asked Ronon.

"Sure."

John tossed a serious glare at the Satedan. "Don't hurt him, Ronon. Fun fighting only. No blood or concussions, or I'll tattle to Carson."

Ronon nodded. "I heard what Beckett said."

"Good."

The four men were each lost in their own thoughts on the ride down to the Chair Room. Zelenka and a team were waiting with the necessary equipment.

"Ready, Winchester?" John asked.

"No." He was almost as white as when he had been discussing his fear of flight.

John pushed Winchester into the chair and the chair lit up appropriately. "Don't worry. We don't have enough energy for you to get Atlantis in the air."

"Don't even think about it," Rodney snapped. "We'd use all of our ZPMs if the city thought you were serious."

Winchester was rigid and stiff.

"You need to relax," John offered.

"No thanks," Winchester said. "Can we get on with it?"

"Winchester. Relax. That's an order," John reworded his statement.

Winchester at least looked a little looser.

"Better."

"Now," McKay snapped. "I need you to think about where we are in the universe."

Winchester squeezed his eyes closed. At first, John figured that nothing was happening. Never before had someone with the ATA gene therapy been able to get the Chair to work the first time sitting down. Hell, Carson had nearly killed John and O'Neill and he had the ATA gene naturally.

Then the air went funny, thick. In the beginning, John was wondering if he should call up Carson and report that the surge had had lasting effects. Then Ronon swung his hand at nothing in the air. John blinked and he watched the air above the Chair turn red and blue and black. The colors seemed to ebb and flow around the room. Honestly, it kinda creeped John out.

When the colors blocked the light, Rodney looked up from the energy readouts. "What the hell is he doing? Winchester, you are supposed to be thinking of where we are in the galaxy."

"I am," Winchester said through clenched teeth.

"Winchester," John took over. "Think about perspective and distance and units and where Atlantis is on your map."

Instead of lines and dots appearing, white scribbles and arches did. It didn't look like any star chart that John had ever seen and the scribbles didn't look like any language, even Ancient. Where were the planets and stars? He asked his question out loud.

"They're there," Winchester insisted.

"Oh yeah," Rodney challenged. "Open your eyes and point them out."

Winchester opened his eyes and instantly the color-show vanished.

"Don't stop thinking!" Rodney yelled.

Winchester was trying to get the 'star chart' back, but nothing happened with his eyes opened. Once he closed his eyes, the dark ocean of colors returned.

Rodney was grumbling insults. "Stupid Marines. Can't think and do something at the same time."

Winchester set his jaw, and the colors grew stronger.

"Winchester, put Atlantis directly above your head in your map." John directed. The ocean shifted and the black settled in the center of the room, tendrils of black undulated to the walls.

"Winchester, you're insane," Rodney declared.

"Does that mean that I can go now?"

Rodney looked at the mysterious symbols and swirling colors. "Obviously, you are not going to be any help in learning about Atlantis. Get out of here, so that I can get real work done."

Winchester was out of the chair in a flash, the color show disappeared at the same time. One look at Ronon and the two were out the door. John stepped to follow.

"Not so fast, Sheppard," Rodney called. "I need to see if the surge affected you at all. You, I have a baseline for."

John sighed, but obeyed. He was halfway curious as well. He resigned himself to a long afternoon.

"Why did you have Atlantis black?" Ronon asked as they walked to the gym.

"You can hide in the dark," Winchester responded.

"Huh."

"You want to watch monster movies with Pacosky and me tonight?"

"Sure."

"Good."

"McKay to Winchester, come in Winchester."

Dean sighed. Why did it have to be McKay? Dean knew better than to push his limits there. McKay wasn't called a genius because of his ego. If Dean pushed McKay's patience (what patience?) he would be facing some pretty stiff obstacles. He needed to find a way to get around the man. Manipulating people had always been Sammy's job. What would Sammy use? Maybe bribery? He closed down his new computer. "Winchester here," he said as he touched his earpiece. "Over."

"Finally," McKay huffed. "Report to the puddlejumper bay immediately."

Everything was immediately with McKay. "Yes sir. Over and out."

Dean made a side trip to the mess to gather a bunch of cookies. Nothing with McKay would be short. He managed to eat most of them before arriving. When he walked into the bay, he saw McKay and a bunch of scientists standing around one puddlejumper. Sheppard was there too, but no Weir. Tons of recording equipment scattered throughout the bay. What were they doing that needed his input?

Dean stepped closer and saw the Seal painted on the ramp of the puddlejumper. One of the many places that Sheppard wanted Seals painted but it was down on his list and he still didn't have the paint from Missouri. He tilted his head at it. "Something's wrong."

All of the scientists deflated. "We paint it how you paint one by the gate," Zelenka declared. "''Xactly."

Dean shook his head and stepped over it. All of the sigils were correct, but it didn't buzz. There should something. Dean was pretty sure the Seal was merely graffiti and not very pretty at that. "I don't think this one will work."

McKay humphed. He was touching buttons on his computer. "Just as I said. No energy output, you didn't do something right. Try it again."

"Am I excused, sir?" Dean asked Sheppard. He didn't know how he felt about this latest development and wanted to be anywhere but here.

Sheppard tilted his head and Dean was reminded that his CO was no slouch in the brains department either. "You said that you copied the Seal a couple hundred times before actually using it, true?"

"True." No one had asked what on Earth could be contained in a Seal and Dean was just waiting for that conversation. Heightmeyer was hot and all but he really did not want to see her in a professional capacity. O'Neill must have put something really creative in his jacket to keep all the questions at bay.

"At 1700, Marines are going to be arriving in their rec room and you will be teaching them how to make the Seal. I want every member of the expedition able to draw a Seal on command."

Dean blinked and looked straight ahead. 1700 was in thirty minutes. He should have known that something was up. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted just about anytime you need it," John replied. Dean could feel his amusement with Marine protocol.

"Sir, I don't have the time."

"You do now. See Lorne. He has your new schedule. If it takes a couple hundred times of making the Seal for it to work, than all the away teams –and everybody else- will get the practice. You're going to be grading a lot of papers, so you are also getting your own office here. The Athosians are also building you an office on the mainland, but I want to keep them separate."

Dean didn't know what to say. "Everyone's going to need markers and compasses, sir. At the very least. And paper." Nearly everything in Atlantis was on computers. There wasn't a lot of paper to go around. "Drawing the Seal out on computer monitors would probably be a bad idea. We can practice some on the white boards and I'm sure we will, but not for the first several hundred times."

"Already on order. Until then, we're stealing part of Lorne's paper stash. The equipment we do have will be in the rec room. Anyone that has a compass of their own is instructed to bring it to the rec room."

Dean didn't see a way he could fight this new development. Why couldn't the scientists make a Seal that would work? And why could Dean suddenly know whether or not a Seal would work by looking at it? He was glad that no one else knew that Dean's knowledge of a Seal's energy output was a new development.

Dean dragged his feet on his way to the rec room. How the hell was he supposed to teach the Seal? It would have been nice to get a chance to plan. (It would have been nice to have enough time to wiggle out of the new task.)

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw that most people were elsewhere. Only the curious and the optimistic were attending. Pacosky sat front and center in a show of support. He had a stack of blank paper at his side. Teyla sat to his left. Dean knew the other Marines from his time at the pool table or from poker tournaments.

Dean could do this. He would teach to Pacosky and Teyla and hope for the best. "Does everyone have a compass?" he asked. He paired up those with and without. He passed out the blank paper and grabbed a dry erase marker. He drew a circle on the white board. "This is how you draw a Seal. You always start and end at north…"


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Rodney McKay was surprised to see the Marine at the docking of the I_Daedalus_ /I. Rodney was there to accept equipment and to intimidate new scientists. Why was Winchester there?

Rodney tried to sneak up behind the Marine, but it was a hopeless endeavor. Winchester turned to face him. "What's up, Doc?"

"Funny," Rodney griped. "You can't be getting any new materials. I haven't gotten any requisitions from you. O'Neill is sending your stuff through the Carter-McKay Mid-way station during the next check in since you didn't have the authority to put in a req in time for this trip."

Winchester frowned and started toward the door away from the Earth ship. "It's nothing that would concern you."

Instantly Rodney was interested. "Oh?"

Then a young airman walked off the ship with his hands full. "Dean," the airman exclaimed with a smile. The smile disappeared when he saw Rodney. "Oh?"

"What do we have here?" Rodney asked silkily.

The airman handed Winchester the package and practically ran back to the ship.

"Well?"

Winchester looked defeated. He sighed. Rodney was familiar with that sigh. He normally heard it just before the Marine surprised him (and cost him money and ego). "If I give you one of the prepackaged . . .things in here, will you leave us alone?"

Rodney narrowed his eyes. Did he want what was in that package or not? One prepackage wouldn't do too much harm. Winchester was probably not getting explosive materials in such a sneaky manner. "Agreed."

Winchester put down the package, knelt, and pulled a knife from somewhere. He cut in a predetermined pattern and then reached a hand inside. Rodney was relatively sure that some thought crossed the Marine's face (Why couldn't facial expressions be in mathematical equations? He would understood that.) and then he pulled out two packages. One was the snack-sized peanut M&M's and the other was a one-pot package of coffee grounds.

Rodney snatched both away before Winchester finished standing. Chocolate and coffee were the two of the most tradable items on Atlantis. Rodney had thought that he knew all the distributors in the city, but Winchester had never been even whispered. Rodney knew that his stuff wasn't for sale. And since Winchester hadn't given the airman anything in exchange, it might just be for favors.

Rodney calculated how much chocolate and coffee one could pack into a cube that was approximately 2/3 m on each side. He divided that by the six week round trip journey and realized that Winchester barely had enough for himself, let alone Rodney as well. Finally he decided. "Give me three bags of coffee every time I_Daedalus_ /I lands and I won't tell anyone in the city that you have a stash and a supplier."

Dean winced and countered. "Three and you sign off on a requisition - no questions asked – per shipment."

"Four and a requisition every other trip," Rodney pushed.

"Three and every other," Dean said.

Rodney considered it. He wondered if Winchester was better at trade than Teyla, then decided he would suggest as much to Elizabeth. Winchester would hate the trade trips through the Stargate that Rodney was routinely subjected to.

"Deal."

Winchester waited to reach out his hand. "So we agree to three bags of coffee per trip, a signed – no questions asked – requisition every other trip, and silence on my supplies and my supplier to everyone else."

Rodney waved his hand. "I said 'deal.' So are we going to shake or not?"

Winchester shook his hand. (Maybe slightly firm but not obviously crushing.) The scientist did notice all the calluses. The Marine took a knee again and pulled out two more coffees. He handed them to Rodney. "I'll give you a req by the end of the week."

Lorne didn't care for Winchester but the man did his job and in no way added problems to the command structure of Atlantis. There didn't seem to be any fallout concerning the name deception. No one would have even known about it except for the mysterious abilities that Winchester had shown under pressure and threat of death. Whatever reason O'Neill had, it still hadn't followed them out to the Pegasus galaxy. Lorne knew that O'Neill didn't stick his neck out for just anyone. It had to be combat related. How had O'Neill and Winchester had an "adventure" and the SGC grapevine miss it? How had they become friends and the grapevine miss it?

The grapevine was suddenly missing a lot. For instance, Winchester had come to some sort of agreement with McKay, to the point where the Sergeant could say something oblique like "one more" and the scientist would quit complaining instantly. Lorne wasn't the only one on Atlantis who wanted to know the source of that power. McKay, for obvious reasons, was silent on the score. Winchester tried to keep out of the minor squabbles, saving his mysterious power for the "important stuff" like postponing Chair experiments indefinitely.

After the leadership team had conned Winchester into his gene therapy, Sheppard told Lorne to ensure that Winchester got all his flight hours in. So Lorne ordered Winchester to spend every afternoon from 1400 to 1600hrs in the puddlejumper learning and thought that was the end of it. Lorne should have known better. After a couple of days, Zelenka thanked Lorne for giving him a Marine to help explore the innards of puddlejumpers.

"Too smart for Marine," Zelenka said. "Good with his hands." Zelenka had tilted his head. "Are all mechanics American this capable?"

Lorne refrained from commenting on car engines that had become increasingly, unnecessarily complicated with each new model. "That's not what he's supposed to be learning," he said instead.

"But I can keep him, yes?"

Lorne tried not to be surprised. Though the Czech was nicer about it than McKay, he still didn't waste work time with the unintelligent. "I'll have to talk with his CO. We need him as a pilot for the puddlejumpers."

"Did you assign him a teacher?"

"I told him that Bates took Athosians to and from the mainland at 1400." Bates always had orders to complete a number of planetary experiments before returning.

Zelenka had obviously spent time figuring out the Marine. "Ah, but you did not order him to join Bates."

Lorne had heard Sheppard gripe about Winchester's nasty habit of following the letter of orders and not the spirit, but figured that the sergeant had learned his lesson. He hadn't.

So Lorne excused himself out of his duties and showed up in the jumper bay at 1430 the following day. "Hey Doc?" he called.

"Back here," Zelenka answered.

Lorne followed the direction of the voice and found the scientist and the oft-absent Marine deep in the bowels of a puddlejumper. "Winchester."

"Sir," he said warily.

"Time for your flight lesson."

"But . . ."

"Now."

Winchester put down the wires and crystals. "Yes, sir."

"Dean?" Zelenka called.

"Yeah Doc?"

"Piloting a puddlejumper is like driving."

Winchester's look of disbelief was funny, but Lorne didn't crack a smile.

"Truth." Zelenka nodded. "You drive in the x-z plane. You drive a jumper in the x-y-z plane."

Winchester didn't seem happy with the explanation but he was considering it as he followed Lorne into Jumper 1. Supposedly, according to Sheppard, Jumper 1 was in the best shape out of all the jumpers. Lorne directed Winchester into the pilot's seat. "Think 'On.' Maybe think of a lightswitch in your head. Something like how you got the control chair to work."

"I still don't know what happened in that Chair, sir," Winchester protested.

Neither did anyone else, so Lorne changed tactics. "You've got a car at home?"

Winchester swelled with pride. "A cherry '67 Chevy Impala. I do all the maintenance myself."

Lorne was impressed. "Where did you leave it?"

"O'Neill's taking care of it for me."

Something like that should have been all over the gossip mill. Why hadn't anyone at the SGC shared that with Atlantis? "Okay. Think of turning a key in the ignition."

Nothing.

The puddlejumper wasn't responding to Winchester at all. If Winchester still wasn't as white as a ghost, Lorne would wonder if he was chanting 'don't start, don't start' in his head. Speaking of, "Winchester, talk to the jumper out loud." Most people couldn't chant one thing out loud and another in their head.

"Turn on, damn you," Winchester said. "I know the starters're not bad on you. The sooner we start, the sooner we're done. On. On. On. On. Turn. Turn. Turn. Come on," now he sounded cajoling, "You know you want to start. Turn over already."

Nothing.

Jumper 1 was Sheppard's primary ride and was a bit of a snob for any artificial ATA gene carrier. With Winchester's gene being a little odd, perhaps Jumper 1 just didn't connect. So Lorne tapped Winchester on the shoulder. "1 can be a selective to its pilots. Let's try 3." 3 was the jumper that Lorne normally took out. Though officially the jumpers and the pilots could be switched, everyone had their favorite. Winchester and Lorne repeated the failed ignition process with 3. Lorne could feel 3 waiting for an instruction from him, but couldn't seem to get the jumper to acknowledge Winchester. Lorne mentally ticked off what he knew about the different jumpers. Jumper 8 would start for just about anyone.

"Let's try 8."

Winchester followed him out, looking hopeful that the whole piloting thing might fail.

"Don't start thinking that you won't be flying today," Lorne warned. "Don't you dare start thinking 'off'."

Winchester slumped.

They had to cross the bay to get to Lorne's third choice. Winchester had just turned his back on the puddlejumper that he had been working on before when there was a sudden string of Czech swearing. Both whirled to see and the puddlejumper was hovering and following Winchester.

"You were thinking 'on.' Weren't you?" Lorne accused.

Winchester was white as a sheet. "You told me to practice."

"In a jumper," Lorne clarified. It still shouldn't have worked. "For right now, think 'down gently'."

Winchester screwed up his face in concentration and the puddlejumper slowly settled on the floor of the bay. It thumped hard.

"Think 'Off,' Sergeant," Lorne ordered as he ran to the ramp of the jumper. He stepped inside and helped Zelenka to his feet. "You okay, Doc?"

"Fine, fine. Just surprised. Fell on my I_tush_/I. No harm."

Lorne looked around. "What are you fixing?"

"Weapons," Zelenka muttered.

"You mind taking a break and letting Winchester and me take it for a spin? Is everything else in working order?" Might as well use the puddlejumper that responded to the Sergeant's mental calls.

"Aye. I need a break," Zelenka said. He patted Winchester's arm as they passed. "Have fun, Dean."

Winchester was standing just outside of the jumper.

"Get in here," Lorne ordered.

Winchester stepped inside and the jumper lit up in welcome. "Off, off, off," he muttered. The jumper wasn't obeying.

Lorne wasn't amused, no, not at all. "Sit in the pilot's chair and tell it to close the bay door."

The bay door was closed before Winchester sat down and no one was near the button at the door. Sheppard was going to be jealous. Every other pilot had to be sitting in the chair for the jumpers to work.

Lorne tapped his earwig, "Lorne to Tower. Permission for Jumper 17 for lift off. Over."

"Permission granted Jumper 17," Chuck responded. "Over."

"Over and out."

"Pull back on the controls," Lorne told Winchester, "And you'll feel when the automatic docking will take control." Even Lorne felt the jolt of the automatic docking and then they were elevated out of the jumper bay and into the sky above Atlantis. "Steer the controls to the mainland."

Winchester turned smoothly.

"Push on the controls to go faster. Straight ahead." Lorne decided to use Zelenka's suggestion for the next part. "If you move the controls on the y-plane, the jumper will move on the y-plane as well."

Winchester nodded tersely. He lowered the jumper to just above the ocean waves and then pushed forward. The jumper sped across the water, leaving a wake like a jet ski. Lorne could tell that they were rapidly accelerating as the sergeant relaxed, but he wondered how fast they were going and if they were in the correct direction. He paused and then thought it again, expecting the jumper screen to accommodate him. It didn't. Huh. While he didn't have Sheppard's affinity for all things Ancient, jumpers rarely gave him an issue. "Winchester, tell the jumper to give you a speed and a map of where we're going and where we've been."

The screen instantly lit up. Maybe they should have kept Zelenka for the trip. The Science Department was going to go crazy with this information. In other news, Winchester was currently going faster than a 747. Unlike McKay and Carson, Winchester had excellent spatial direction and was headed straight for the mainland settlement. "You can go faster," Lorne prompted.

Winchester pushed on the controls harder and was almost at Sheppard's maximum speed. Immediately he backed off.

"What's wrong?" Lorne asked.

Winchester tilted his head. "Something's not quite right. She didn't like the upper speeds."

That was a surprise, but then Winchester excelled at the unexpected. Not even Sheppard knew when an Ancient object was about to fail. Lorne decided to test it. "Not quite right as in 'we're about to lose all power and dive into the ocean' or not quite right as in 'I'm an old lady puddlejumper and don't like to go fast'?"

Winchester glared and patted the consol. "He didn't mean that, girl." He glanced at the tools Zelenka left in the back of the puddlejumper. "If you take the controls, I'll be able to fix it."

Curiosity more than anything else made Lorne reach for the controls. Winchester stood and the jumper took a nose dive. Winchester grabbed for the controls again and the jumper settled on the ocean like a boat. "I thought you had it," he muttered.

So did I, Lorne thought. He also sent a mental apology to the jumper, just in case. I wasn't trying to be insulting. This time when Winchester let go of the controls, the jumper ceded to Lorne's command. Winchester puttered in the back of the jumper for only five minutes when Lorne's earwig beeped. "Tower to Jumper 17. Come in, Jumper 17. Over."

"Jumper 17 to Tower, over," Lorne answered.

"Are you experiencing problems, Jumper 17? Over." Chuck asked politely. After almost losing Dr. McKay to the bottom of the ocean and losing his pilot, Lorne wasn't surprised that the Tower was keeping a close eye on all jumper travel.

"Negative, Tower," Winchester responded before Lorne could. "Over and out." He slid back into the pilot's seat and took the controls. Immediately, the jumper achieved height and moved forward. Once again, the map and jumper speed appeared on the screen. Lorne watched as Winchester approached what had been previously thought of as the jumper maximum speed and then exceeded it.

"You can probably go faster if you were higher off the ocean," Lorne hinted.

Winchester nodded tersely and raised the controls slightly. Still the high speed increased. Sheppard was going to be so jealous when he finally got around to reading Lorne's report on this lesson. The high speed stabilized. Lorne committed the number to memory. "And now for maneuverability."

"Do you have an obstacle course out here, sir?" Winchester asked.

That wasn't a bad idea and one Lorne would implement mostly so that he could have Sheppard race Winchester. He could clean up on bets with that one. No one would see Winchester coming. "Not yet. For now, I want you to drive out the outside of these points." Please? he asked the jumper and the jumper screen was speckled with the dots that Lorne wanted up there.

Winchester nodded. He slowed a bit and then weaved the jumper around the arbitrary points in space. He overshot the first two before figuring out just how slow he needed to be as compared to the sharpness of each turn. Soon, Winchester was smoothly weaving through the dots. He wasn't at his top speed anymore, but the speed he was using would be comparable to Sheppard's. Lorne leaned back and relaxed. Yes, the race must happen soon.

"Cloak," Lorne ordered.

Winchester screwed up his face again. A beat. "Did I do it?"

Lorne tapped his earwig, "Jumper 17 to Tower. Over."

"Tower to Jumper 17. Over."

"Is the jumper cloak engaged? Over."

"Affirmative. Over."

"Thank you Tower, Over and Out."

Winchester grinned. Lorne had to smirk. For someone who started out deathly afraid of flight, Winchester was doing well. He just had to be in control. "So how's flying?' Lorne asked.

Winchester still winced. "Not horrible, sir."

"Good." Lorne watched the scenery go by and observed Winchester's maneuverability. He decided to bring the sergeant in on his plan. "You know you went faster than Sheppard ever has in a jumper."

Winchester looked surprised. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes." Then Lorne thought about it. "Unless Sheppard lied on his reports to make the other pilots feel better about their speeds. So how do you feel about racing Sheppard?"

Winchester checked Lorne's face to judge the seriousness of the question. And how far he could push. "Would there be betting on this race, Major?"

"Not in front of Weir."

Winchester grinned. "Give me fifty percent of the take and you can count me in."

"Agreed, but we're going to have to see if you can start any of the other jumpers," Lorne added. "'Cause the first thing McKay will want –and Sheppard- once he loses is to switch jumpers."

"Yes, sir."

"Head back to Atlantis and take your time. Get a little more altitude."

"Yes, sir." He turned white again, but obeyed the order.

Lorne quietly enjoyed the ride. Winchester was humming Metalica under his breath. Lorne didn't mind. When Atlantis appeared on the screen in the distance, Lorne called the Tower. "Jumper 17 to Tower. Come in Tower. Over."

"Tower to Jumper 17. Over."

"Permission to land. Over."

"Permission granted, Jumper 17. Over."

"Over and out."

Winchester piloted Jumper 17 to the perfect spot for the automatic docking to pick them up. This time was smoother. Winchester managed to land 17 with a small bump.

"You'll get better at that," Lorne said. "Let us out."

Winchester was standing already, but didn't sit back down to open the bay door. It opened when requested. Lorne kept his smile to himself as he led the way out. "Doc?" he called into the jumper bay.

"Aye?" Zelenka answered from inside Jumper 18. The jumpers were being number according to the order they were cleared for duty.

"I need you as witness."

Winchester looked at him confused, and Zelenka looked curious as he joined them. "Major Lorne, what do you mean?"

"Winchester here is going to attempt to activate every jumper in the bay and we'll record the results."

Zelenka nodded.

Winchester didn't groan but he looked pained. "Even the ones that didn't work before?" he asked.

Lorne looked at Zelenka. The doctor shrugged and nodded. "Is fine. I believe you when you say he couldn't initiate mental contact with some."

"Good. Come on, Winchester. You still have fourteen jumpers to try."

"Fifteen," Zelenka corrected. "18 should wake for him. If my theory is correct, 18 will be one of three that will wake for him." Lorne wasn't surprised that the doctor had noticed Winchester's difficulties and had already formed a theory about it.

Lorne pushed Winchester toward Jumper 2. "The sooner you start, the sooner you can start making bets around the city for the jumper race."

Zelenka looked interested at the mention of a race. "He fast?"

"In his jumper."

Zelenka grinned. "I will help make bets."

"We'll tell Sheppard that a race will distract Winchester from actually flying. He'll jump on any excuse to take the puddlejumper out. He is a pilot, after all."

"Yes, he is." Zelenka was smart on several levels. "Are you going to have Winchester tune up 3?" It was, after all, some that a pilot would do.

"Yeah, doc." Lorne glanced at Winchester fighting with Jumper 2. "I think I will." Winchester, Lorne decided, could end up being very useful.

"You interested in a jumper race?" Lorne asked Sheppard.

Sheppard was interested, obviously. "Weir is not going to approve a race."

"It's because of Winchester. I need something to distract him from actually flying. I figure competition is a good way to get a Marine to do anything."

"True."

Lorne rattled a basket at his feet. "And a race will get him practice his maneuverability."

Sheppard smirked at the basket full of empty, plastic coke bottles. "Weir is not going to like us littering up this world, major." Chuck, from Tower Control had donated them to the cause. As soon as he had heard about the proposed race, Chuck had approached Lorne and wanted part of the cut. He had kept track of Winchester's speed and he could place bets with people that Lorne and Zelenka couldn't. Winchester had agreed to split the ever increasing pot with him.

Lorne shrugged a bit. "Loser picks up the trash, sir. Winchester already agreed to the condition. When –if he loses, he'll have to practice hovering. Pacosky said that he'd use the net to fish them out."

"Does Winchester know how sneaky you are, Major?"

"I got him flying for over an hour yesterday, sir."

"Oh, good. Bates said that he had never set eyes on our wayward sergeant."

"That's what he reported to me as well. That's why I personally took him out."

"How is he?"

"Rough. I promised him that no one would be grading him on his lift-offs and landings as a part of the race."

"I suppose that we could let him have that handicap."

"Yes, sir."

John returned his attention to his never-ending paperwork. "I have time tomorrow afternoon at 1400hrs. Will that work for Winchester?"

"Yes. That's his normal flying time. I'll set out the buoys earlier."

"Good. In the meantime, I'll clear it with Weir."

"Thank you, sir."

Lorne knew that maneuverability would be Winchester's Achilles' heel but that he would leave Sheppard in the dust on straight distances, so in dropping the buoys, he would clump them all together at the beginning. The straight part would be at the end. That was when Winchester would catch up and pass Sheppard.

He had filed his completed report at 0600hrs and so far no one had accessed it. Zelenka promised to keep McKay busy and had already set up the betting pool among the scientists. Chuck had made a bet with all of the gate room personnel. Winchester could get people to take bets, but the odds weren't as lopsided in Marine quarters as they were in the labs. Too many Marines had a feeling that Winchester would at least put up a good showing.

Lorne had expected word to get around, and was in fact banking on it, but even he was surprised at the jerry-rigged screens available in every rec room in preparation for the race. The air of festivities made it hard to get a lot of work done.

He turned a blind eye to the beer keg that nearly ran over him on its way to the rec area furthest from the Tower. Mostly. "Marines," he said to the men and one lady.

"Yes, sir?"

He looked from the conspicuously unlabeled keg to the soldiers. "I will be checking on all of you during your duties tomorrow. Try to show a little restraint."

"Yes, sir!"

"Dismissed."

Most of the soldiers hurried away but the female, Corporal Kwong, paused. "Sir?"

"Yes, Corporal?"

"Who do you think will win the race? Air Force or Marine?"

Lorne kept his tone light and vague. "Corporal, I have been training that Marine. It is my duty to support my student."

"Of course, sir."

Lorne waved her away and checked his watch. He had to check in with the lieutenants before grabbing Pacosky to drop off the buoys. He was running out of time.

"Ladies and Gentleman of Atlantis, I hope you are ready for the first ever puddle jumper race."

Chuck had reserved a radio channel to MC the race and if Elizabeth stumbled across his narration on the air waves, this was going to be last puddle jumper race of the Atlantis expedition. Lorne was already enjoying the race description. He was in the gate room, observing on the main sensor screen. He was officially on duty, as was Chuck.

Elizabeth was taking a late lunch. Lorne had no idea what Sheppard had told her to permit this race or to get her out of her office, but he was going to take advantage of it.

"We have a fine, fine day for a race," Chuck continued, "sunny skies and a light wind out of the southwest at seven knots. Today's race covers three hundred kilometers over the ocean. The course is divided into two main sections. First, maneuverability: the pilots must weave between forty buoys floating on the currents. The second section of the race is pure speed. The pilots will return straight to Atlantis, then they will circle once around. The first jumper to pass by the windows of the Tower gate room will be declared the winner.

"The first pilot exiting the jumper bay is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. An esteemed member of the US Air Force, Colonel Sheppard has served and flown on every continent of Earth. He was the first member of the Atlantis expedition to ever fly a puddlejumper. Colonel Sheppard definitely has experience on his side for this race. He is hovering above the Tower in his preferred vehicle of Jumper 1."

Lorne sent Chuck a sharp look. Yes, bets were still being made somewhere in the city, but there was no need to overdo the disparity between the racers.

Chuck nodded once in agreement and glanced at his notes. Lorne nearly laughed: Chuck had made notes to MC this race. "Our challenger today is Sergeant Dean Winchester. This Marine learned how to fly yesterday, but he has been assisting Dr. Radek Zelenka in restoring the Ancient puddlejumpers to their original conditions. In fact, Winchester is piloting the most recently fixed jumper, 17. Will the knowledge of the inner workings of his space craft be advantageous today? In case of an emergency, Major Jonathan Bates of the USAF will be riding in Winchester's puddlejumper."

McKay was complaining loudly about Winchester's so-called advantages and that reminded Chuck of McKay's role in this race.

"Anyone tapping into today's video feed will be able to see the interior of each jumper and the pilots flying. Today, our judges will be Dr. Rodney McKay and Dr. Radek Zelenka. They will ensure that each pilot will complete an outer circuit of every buoy. Are the judges ready?"

Zelenka nodded and McKay waved his hand. "Yes, yes, let's get this over with already."

"The judges are ready," Chuck said for all of the personnel listening in. "Are the pilots ready?"

Sheppard's "Yeah" overlapped Winchester's "Yes, sir."

"The pilots are ready. All the buoy beacons are broadcasting correctly. On my mark, the race will begin. Ready! Set! Mark!" Chuck took a deep breath. "And they're off. They are neck and neck as they round the first buoy. Now they round the second buoy. Oh! And Colonel Sheppard is starting to pull away, but Sergeant Winchester is nipping right on his heels."

Lorne shifted his shoulders and rolled his neck. He reminded himself that this had been the plan. Sheppard would speed through the maneuverability. Winchester was doing well, Lorne reasoned. In fact, he was doing better than even Lorne had hoped. Sheppard was just that much better. He was a damn fine pilot and no one would ever forget that. Maybe, Lorne shouldn't have included the buoys and the maneuverability as part of the race.

"Colonel Sheppard has finished the maneuverability potion of the race four buoys ahead of Winchester," Chuck declared for all. "Colonel Sheppard has turned his jumper around and is now headed straight for Atlantis. Winchester has two more buoys, one more buoy. Winchester has finished the buoys and is returning to Atlantis. Oh! Winchester is picking up speed. Winchester is closing in on Sheppard. Does he have enough distance to actually overtake Jumper 1? Winchester is six lengths behind. Five lengths behind. Colonel Sheppard has less than one hundred kilometers to Atlantis. Winchester is four lengths behind Sheppard. Three lengths! Ladies and gentlemen this race just got more exciting. We obviously can't count Winchester out yet. He has moved two lengths behind Sheppard.

"Twenty-five kilometers to Atlantis and Winchester is only one length behind Sheppard. And now they're neck and neck, rounding the city. Is this true? Is Winchester inching away from Sheppard? And now they are approaching the finish line in front of the gate room. This might be a photo finish. We will definitely need our judges for this one. And it's over!" The two jumpers blurred by the windows.

"Let's have an instant replay in slow motion."

Everyone's eyes were glued to the display screen as they watch the final second of the race. Lorne was thrilled that Winchester won and by a couple feet too.

"Are the judges agreed?" Chuck asked the doctors.

"Winchester won," Zelenka declared.

"How did he do that?" McKay immediately demanded. "He cheated. He had to cheat. Bates really flew, didn't he?"

Chuck ignored McKay's indignant accusations. Everyone could see Winchester sweaty and flushed and ecstatic in the pilot's seat and Bates standing behind him with his jaw dropped open. "And now we check in on our winning pilot. Tower to Jumper 17. Come in 17."

Winchester tapped his earwig. "This is 17, over."

"Congratulations, Sergeant Winchester. You are the official winner of today's puddlejumper race. If you and Colonel Sheppard would please park in jumper bay one, I'm sure there are many people waiting to congratulate you.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you enjoyed today's race and have a pleasant day. This is Chuck of Atlantis Tower, signing off."

Elizabeth tapped of her earwig and the race narration concluded. Chuck had done an excellent job MC-ing the race. She closed Lorne's report on her computer. The Major had done an excellent job setting Sheppard up. Sergeant Winchester had flown admirably.

All of this was vital information.

She checked her watch. She'd give the gate room personnel ten more minutes to celebrate the race and come to grips with its conclusion, and then she would return to her office. Her very presence would sober up the soldiers and remind them of their posts and their mission.

Everyone –even she- needed this light-hearted distraction from the wraith.

Lorne was not the first one to arrive in the jumper bay. He wasn't even the hundredth one to arrive in the jumper bay. The bay was filled with people, all loud and cheerfully rehashing the race. He was glad that everyone, even those who had lost money (and Lorne knew that over sixty percent of them had lost money) had enjoyed the race.

Lorne snagged the net from the corner that he had stashed it and made his way to Jumper 1. He just happened to pass Winchester. He elbowed the Marine, "Did you have to make it such a close race?" he yelled at him.

Winchester grinned and laughed and shrugged. Lorne didn't know how much of the near loss had been because Winchester had been hustling and how much was because Sheppard was a damn fine pilot.

Lorne kept on going until he saw Sheppard. He actually followed McKay's voice as it was raised over the din. Finally, Lorne stepped onto Jumper 1. "Here you go, sir," Lorne didn't smile as he offered the net to his CO, but it was a strain on his self-control. "Have fun picking up the buoys."

Sheppard accepted the net and shook his head good-naturedly. "Did you make money off your bets, Lorne?"

"Me, sir? Money was not the goal of this exercise. You all confirmed a theory that I had."

Sheppard was mildly amused. "And what theory would that be, Major?"

"That none of you read my reports, sir."

"I looked at your report, Major," McKay immediately protested. "You spent over two pages detailing how Winchester couldn't activate Jumpers 1 through 15. At all."

Lorne nodded. "Yes sir, and then I spent two more pages on how Winchester can activate Jumper 17 from across the jumper bay, mostly when he's trying to activate Jumpers 1 through 15."

McKay looked stunned. "I stopped reading it before that."

"I presumed as much, sir."

Sheppard shook his head. "You proved your point, Major. So your third point was that Winchester's top speed was better than mine?"

"No, Sir, the third point in my report detailed that Winchester could tell –somehow- that something was wrong with Jumper 17 and so he landed on the ocean and fixed it, which is when the fourth point of report comes into play. It was only after Winchester played jumper mechanic did the jumper exceed your top speed."

"That's…" McKay's voice trailed off. "That makes absolutely no scientific sense."

Lorne put forth Zelenka's theory. "Doctor Zelenka mentioned that Winchester only worked on Jumpers 16, 17, and 18. Those are the only three that recognize him. 17 recognizes him the most and his connection to 18 is getting stronger by the day. Zelenka believes that Winchester's connection to 18 will be as strong as his connection to 17 by the time they are done."

"That's interesting," Sheppard cast eyes on the sergeant who was still accepting the riotous congratulations from the Marines of Atlantis. He wasn't sure when the race had become another Air Force vs Marines thing, but he had a feeling that it was intentional on someone's part.

"I thought it worth reporting, sir."

"It sounds like a report worth reading."

"It is," Lorne assured them.

"I still want to try 17," Sheppard said.

"Of course, sir. Though you might have more success if you had Winchester in 1 as you flew. He might be able to identify what's slowing up your jumper. Not to mention that 17 is particular to Winchester now that he's flown her."

"Really?" Sheppard eyed him. "Did he make 3 go faster?"

"Yes, sir. He did. Zelenka reported a nine percent improvement in both speed and mainframe computation, already. That report is also on the share drive."

Sheppard looked at the net in his hand. "What are you doing right now, major?"

Lorne offered his most innocent expression. "I have Gate duty and then more reports to file, sir."

"Of course you do." Sheppard looked around the busy hallway. Ronon stood a head taller than the rest. Sheppard waved him over.

"Yeah?"

"I need someone to net the buoys out of the ocean while I fly. You busy?"

"No."

"Good. Let's go clean up our mess before Elizabeth sics the Biology department on us for littering."

"Ok."

Sheppard grinned. "You know, Ronon, I asked you to come because of our long and deep talks."

Ronon glared.

"Okay, so I lied. I asked for your help because the two of us will get the job done faster than anyone else."

"You did just lose the race, Sheppard. You're not the fastest."

Lorne hid his smile as Ronon's biting wit came out to play. He left before he could be dragged into any argument. Zelenka caught him at the door and slipped him his cash prize. Lorne stuffed the wad into his pocket. He had made out like a bandit on this little endeavor.

John Sheppard sat in Jumper 17 and tried to activate it again. The jumper bay was quiet. Everyone had returned to their regularly scheduled duties. 17 would not turn on. He could feel it in the back of his mind, like a curious cat. It was observing him but not approaching. He was sweating and had a headache. The cat of Jumper 17 wasn't interested in him. John tried to tell himself that he was just trying out a newly fixed jumper like any other. He was putting himself through this pain because he needed to know if the jumper would acknowledge his presence.

It had nothing to do with the speeds Winchester had managed to coax out of it.

I_On_./I

Finally, the jumper lit up, slowly. He had never had an Ancient piece of equipment respond so sluggishly.

Now what?

At least he knew that in an emergency, he could fly 17. He would never be able to reach Winchester's speeds with it, but he had 1 for that. He would drag Winchester out on his jumper until he could match (or exceed) the record for the jumpers' top speed.

He stumbled out of the jumper with a migraine so bad that he considered going to Carson for help. Thick black and blue hues floated through his vision.

Sleep.

He would just sleep off the headache. Atlantis cooed to him and he felt better. Yes, sleep would work.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Come on, Doc," Dean harassed McKay. "Bet against me."

"Money only. I am never betting information against you, ever again." His glower made Dean wince. The man was a horrific nag as it was and Dean had hamstrung him.

"But information's more fun with you. You can buy and sell me several times over. It doesn't mean as much."

"If you're so sure with yourself, put a month's of your pay on the line," McKay challenged.

"You suck," Dean grumbled.

"How very mature. Do we have a deal?"

Dean sighed and shook his head for show. Pacosky ducked his head away to hide a smile. "Can I at least get better odds?"

McKay sighed gustily. He might have thought he was hustling Dean instead of the other way around. "Fine. If you win, if you can tell which seals expel energy and can put them in the correct order, I'll pay you a month of my pay and if I win and you can't make your hoodoo work, you only have to pay me a month of your pay."

Dean pretended to think it through. "Deal. Shake?"

McKay sneered at Dean's grease-covered hand. It wasn't Dean's fault that he had been pulled away from his real job to conduct McKay's experiment. "Next thing I'll know, you'll want to spit on our hands or the floor."

Dean grinned. "I know of one culture that an exchange of spit is needed for a contract signature."

"An exchange of spit?" Teyla asked. "As in a kiss?"

"Yep. Wanna kiss me, McKay?"

McKay sneered. "The real question is: do you want to kiss me? I've overheard enough conversations to know that you are experienced and tend to favor the female gender."

"Okay, you win," Dean capitulated.

"Not yet, but I soon will."

The experiment was easy enough to set up. All of the grunts and a good number of the scientists had learned the proper procedure for drawing out a Seal and once they learned that they were required to practice on their own time. McKay just had to put out word throughout Atlantis that everyone had to turn in a practice sheet to his lab by 0900 today, signed on the back. He had quite the stack. From across the room, Dean could feel a couple live ones. He was proud of his students.

McKay glared again. "Is Zelenka an unbiased judge?"

Dean shrugged. "That'll work for me. Mix them up, Judge," he called out to the doctor.

Zelenka muttered in Czechoslovakian and rolled his eyes. He did mix up the paper quite well and then slid them down the length of the table. The sheets scattered, some falling to the ground. Dean bounced forward. "Nothing, nothing, nothing." He only needed to put a finger on a paper to know whether or not there was energy. Anything without, he stacked in a corner. "Nothing, nothing, nothing," he continued. Why didn't this work for most people? He touched a live one. To his surprise, he knew that feel. "That's Pacosky's. Nothing, nothing, nothing," and on he went. Dean shifted his feet to reach across the table and stopped. He looked down to the paper beneath his combat boot.

"Huh." Dean bent over to pick it up and paused. "This is little Sue Collins, isn't it?" The nurse stuck out in his memory because she was a she and Collins was one of the few of the medical personnel who had gone out of their way to attend one of Dean's classes. Most hadn't bothered. Dean thought that there was a chance that Collins had experienced something supernatural back on Earth but she was being very tight-lipped about it. She was also immune to the Winchester charm. A pity, with her soft brown eyes and pretty ebony skin, Dean would have liked to get to know her better.

Dean checked the name on the back and sure enough, 'Collins' was easy to decipher. While he was down there, Dean picked up the rest of the Seals that had fallen. All but Collins' went into the 'Nothing' pile. Collins' was placed next to Pacosky's. Dean returned his attention to the rest of the table. He almost declared it all 'Nothing' but felt another faint buzz under his skin. One of the Seals was alive down there. Dean just had to find it. Ten minutes and hundreds of papers later, Dean pulled out the right Seal. He glared at it and tried to remember which of his students was showing the most promise.

"It's female," he mused. He saw a stillness out of the corner of his eye. Someone knew their own Seal. Naming the artist for each Seal wasn't part of the bet, but Dean liked how it unnerved the brass. He turned his head in the direction of the stillness. Colonel Sheppard was standing there. Dean didn't focus his eyes directly on his CO, but did address him. "This is the last one," he said as he slid his eyes past Sheppard onto his team. "Congratulations, Teyla, your Seal is starting to have some power."

Teyla smiled softly and nodded regally.

Dean put Teyla's Seal at the end of the line. He did sneak a glance to make sure he was right first –he was. "Pacosky's than Collins' than Teyla's," he announced. "Do you concur, Dr. McKay?"

McKay was nearly growling as he waved his detector wand over papers. He recalibrated it and tried again.

"Rodney," Sheppard called. "Is Sergeant Winchester correct?"

"Yes," McKay hissed. "The rest of them are nothing more than trash."

Dean grinned and rocked back on his heels. "I guess I won the bet, huh, McKay?"

McKay just pointed a finger at him. "I will figure this out," he promised before stomping away. There were times when Dean felt sorry for the scientists and how they tried to make sense of the supernatural. Then Zelenka clapped him on the back and congratulated him and this was not one of those times.

Dean walked into the Marine recreation area for his nightly teaching lesson and nearly walked right back out. All of the brass was in there. Or almost all of them as he didn't see Beckett or McKay, thank God. Anyone else with the least bit of responsibility sat in the chairs normally reserved for Dean's students. Any grunts that had planned on attending this session took one look at the E-7 and E-8 sergeants and commissioned officers, not to mention Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Weir, and backed out. Dean wished he could join them. Staff Sergeant Ohlman was a friendly face, as were Teyla and Ronon. Major Lorne sat next to the door and Dean was sure that the officer would have several people coming to talk to him during the teaching hour.

Dean set aside the cookies that he had brought with him as was his habit. He passed out the paper, compasses and markers and proceeded to show them how to draw a Seal of Solomon. Everyone came up with their own mnemonic device, so Dean didn't bother to share the one he had developed when he had been seven. He left the first example on the white board and right next to it, started the second one. Everyone was supposed to follow along. No one got it right the first time, so Dean didn't bother looking at the results. He just told everyone to turn over their paper and follow along a second time. For the third time, he asked Teyla to come up to the white board and draw the Seal out for everyone. While the power she generated was small, her technique of the Seal was flawless every time.

With Teyla up front, Dean could walk through the desks and pick out flaws before they became bad habits of the draw-ers (because there was no way in hell he could refer to most of them as artists). For the most part, the class didn't differ much from a class of grunts. Dean did a lot of 'sir'-ing and 'ma'am'-ing and described the sigils in less foul terms than normal. He had a red marker that he used on his students' papers. Despite all of his interruptions, Major Lorne was the student closest to getting the Seal technically perfect in this group.

Dean had Teyla erase the Seal she drew and start again. Barely three sigils in and Dean could feel the power emanating from Staff Sergeant Ohlman. With his next pass through the desks, Dean snagged half of his cookies and left them on Ohlman's desk.

When Ohlman looked up with surprise, Dean shrugged, "You're going to need them, sir." Ohlman nodded his thanks and got back to work.

"Any one else?" Colonel Sheppard asked hopefully.

"No, sir."

Like most of the grunts, the vast majority of Dean's class was skeptical of the Seal and its energy signature. It wasn't worth Dean's time to convince them that it could work if they wanted it hard enough. He had been ordered to teach the method, so that was what he was doing.

He really needed to ask when he could stop teaching. Could it be when everyone on Atlantis knew how to draw the Seal correctly? If so, Dean was nearly there.

Dean would ask in a week. Things should be calm by then. The Seal would be old news and not the latest vain method to defeating the wraith.

"Weir, I'm sending you another little gift with this shipment," O'Neill announced. This was one of the rare times when the SGC initiated the trans-galactic wormhole. O'Neill was packing the thirty-eight minutes with as much information and supplies as he could.

Elizabeth heard the grin in the general's voice. "More champagne?"

O'Neill chuckled, "Nope. This is closer to rotgut. And there's a no return policy on this shipment."

Elizabeth paused, suddenly wary. O'Neill was unpredictable at times. Was this a heads up for some new surprise? "What…?"

"SGC out," O'Neill ended the radio connection. The man was getting entirely too much enjoyment out of the errand Winchester had sent him on.

What was going on? The MALP's that McKay had wheedled out the SGC had all stopped outside of Winchester's Seal without hesitation or problems. McKay had been insistent that if Winchester was getting supplies, the SGC might as well send the MALP's to carry the burden. No one had argued with his logic. Atlantis had also gained several personnel on this trip.

Elizabeth activated her radio. "Weir to Winchester."

"Winchester here," the Marine immediately answered.

"O'Neill has sent your requisitions from Earth but added something extra. We need to find it."

"Yes'm. Reporting to the Gateroom."

McKay had been haunting the Gateroom with the excuse that he was waiting for his supplies and scientists, but now he ignored them to snoop through Winchester's. The standard Marine cases were glanced over, those held the items that Winchester could order through normal routes. It was the three leather bound trunks that interested McKay.

A voice rang out before McKay could touch one. "Those are booby-trapped like only an explosives expert can."

McKay took the warning to heart. "Not very trusting are you? You'll have to open them yourself, right now."

Winchester grinned at him. "Nope." He merely tapped the padlock with his middle finger and all could see the quick ripple of gold flicker across the surface. "That one's good." He tapped the other padlocks and got the same gold ripple each time. Winchester moved on to the Marine cases and opened them for general perusal.

The first one was filled with odds and ends that matched with the shipping invoice, as did the second.

"ISon of a bitch!/I" Winchester's emphatic curse echoed throughout the gateroom. He let the lid of the third case drop off the bottom and clatter to the floor. Inside, Elizabeth could see a male body. "What was he thinking?" Winchester wondered out loud.

Why was the man there? Elizabeth was pretty sure that Jack could easily hide a corpse without utilizing Atlantis. "O'Neill said that he was sending us a gift… of rotgut."

Winchester checked the man's pulse and chuckled a bit.

Elizabeth tapped her radio. "Medical team to the gateroom."

Winchester unattached all the cords that connected that particular case to the MALP. "Don't bother. Actually, you should take notes, 'cause women can get Ash to do things that guys can't. Considers himself quite the ladies' man." Winchester shook the case with the man inside. "ASH!"

The man twitched but didn't awake. Winchester shoved the case onto the floor. "Ash! Move your ass!"

"You could give him a concussion." Elizabeth was flabbergasted at the rough treatment. What surprised her even more was the fact that the body was vertical… standing actually.

"Dean!" the man greeted Winchester with a gregarious smile that winced into a frown. "We must have had one hell of a welcome home party, I'm suffering here. I don't remember a thing. Didja bring me home some good weed? More importantly, did I smoke it all?"

"General Jack O'Neill was at the party," Winchester said patiently.

"Who?" Elizabeth could see when the name connected. Ash started looking around, growing more disturbed and disjointed every second. "Hell. Oh, hell. I told him that I could keep my mouth shut, I really can."

"You really can't," Winchester argued. "What did you figure out?"

"Nothing?" Ash asked.

"Ash," Winchester warned.

"I didn't ask to be kidnapped in the name of homeland security." The man was getting a bit defensive.

"O'Neill is in charge of HomeI_world_/I security. What did you tell him?"

Ash looked around, focusing and smiling at Elizabeth for a moment before flitting to the next female he could see. "I'm up shit creek?" he guessed.

"You're swimming in it," Winchester countered. "What did you tell him?"

"That… ah… there's a lot of… ah… people who don't want you having a government sponsored laboratory. And that they have ears everywhere." He spotted the seal Winchester had painted and pointed. "Dude! I've never seen one stronger. What are you fighting out here? Where is here?"

Winchester pushed Ash toward Carson. "You need to get a physical and then I'll answer all you questions." As Ash looked like he was about to complain, Winchester said, "And they'll let you sleep. Maybe help with the hangover a bit."

Carson herded the rather confused man toward one of the gurneys. Winchester snagged the doctor's arm and murmured something while Ash's back was turned. Everyone watched as Carson directed his team and his new patient away.

"What did you tell Carson?" Elizabeth asked when the stranger had cleared the room and Winchester had returned to cataloging his equipment for his lab.

"Not to let Ash anywhere near a computer keyboard."

"He's good?"

"Very. He's a hacker. He might have been as good as McKay at one time before all the drinking and drugs," Winchester said candidly.

"Oh, Please," McKay griped. "I have never, nor ever will be that dumb. And since when did Atlantis become a penal colony?"

"I thought it was a utopia," Winchester countered.

"Everyone here has to pull their weight, not be passed out in the garden."

Winchester's eyes dropped to Rodney's waist in an annoying manner. Rodney automatically sucked in his gut. "I pull everyone's weight around here, keeping all of you alive."

Winchester did address Elizabeth now. "You will definitely want to put him in my room. I'll try to keep him busy and out of everyone's way. He'll get into trouble if he… ah… is not kept occupied."

"You better come up with some ways to keep him busy, sergeant," Elizabeth said. "I'm not letting him out of Atlantis. If he causes the least amount of trouble, I'm throwing him into the brig." She was going to have words with Jack O'Neill the first time they were on a secure line.

"Understood, ma'am."

With Weir's declaration ringing in his ears, it didn't take Dean long until he had conned Ash and Sheppard into letting Ash teach the Seal to everyone who hadn't had a chance to learn yet. Ash knew how to draw the Seal and somehow, he knew when one was working or not. The Marines either loved him or hated him. Most just laughed at him. The scientists despised him, but found themselves losing arguments whenever they attack his science. The best part of the Seal classes was that Ash could be partly smashed for them and still teach.

That much alcohol made Ash a lot easier to deal with. Dean had no idea how Ash had managed to find every single supplier of all regulated substances on Atlantis within one week. He just accepted it as part of Ash's supernatural ability and went on.

He did enjoy the time that Ash's teaching freed up for him. He had more time to plan his new explosives.

With Ash occupied, Dean had a chance to go through all of his trunks and inventory the contents. He was thrilled to see that Missouri had added a care package to the 'supernatural' trunks. Homemade chocolate cookies with Reese's Pieces in them. Yum.

She also had received his e-mail list of every home address of Sue Collins' life and had matched one of the addresses to a series of newspaper articles. The oldest article had been published in 1902 in Baltimore, Maryland. A little girl had wandered up into the house attic and had locked herself in a trunk and had died of dehydration before anyone could find her. In 1930, another little girl had disappeared into the same attic and had died. In 1943 and 1967, a little boy had been the victim. The last article was published in 1988. Stephen Collins had disappeared for a full day and had been eventually found, alive, in the family attic by his big sister, Suzanna.

To an experienced Hunter like Dean, the supernatural story was easy to follow. If he hadn't, Missouri had added a hand-written note indicating that Isaac and Tamara had taken care of the job. Dean did a little mental arithmetic and figured out that the then newlywed's newborn son had been smothered by a hospital ghost only a year before. Dean wondered if having a successful case so soon and so similar to their own had made the married pair among the most stable of all the Hunters out there.

Dean stashed the files someplace safe. He would only confront Sue Collins if the opportunity came up. He almost wished that it was his case. He hadn't had a chance to salt and burn a corpse in ages. Hell, he was getting a little nostalgic about digging up a grave and he knew damn well it was a lot of work.

Teyla was waiting for Dean in the jumper bay. She was standing next to his assigned puddlejumper with the extra shielding dressed in her native clothes. He hadn't had much contact with her outside of his Seal-drawing classes. She was progressing exceptionally well, but he didn't understand why she was here now.

She smiled at him. "Dean, may I accompany you to the mainland?"

She wanted to visit her folks. He could understand that. "Why not?"

Teyla nodded. "Thank you. I would be honored if I could show you your new lab. My people have worked hard to accommodate your specifications."

It would be Dean's first time in his lab and Jumper 18 was packed full of his crates. "Do you need help climbing over?" he asked her.

She smiled her 'no' and slid through the tight walkway and into the co-pilot's chair easily. Dean double checked everything. Once he was absolutely sure that he hadn't forgotten one iota of his training, he tapped his eagwig. "Winchester to Tower. Permission for Jumper 18 for lift off. Over."

"Permission granted Jumper 18," Chuck responded as he did every time before. "Over."

"Over and out." Dean tried not to be nervous about not having a gene-carrier in a passengers' seat. This would be his first solo flight. He lifted off. Atlantis grabbed hold of the jumper with a jerk. It seemed like no matter how much he practiced, he couldn't make that exchange smooth. Atlantis released control once they were hovering above the city. Dean turned the jumper toward shore and flew. Going in a straight line even though there was no blacktop beneath him was an easy task. Dean stayed close to the surface of the water. It felt more like driving from his perspective. Teyla was an easy and calming passenger. The only thing that would make this better would be some tunes.

The jumper started humming AC/DC. Dean instantly relaxed. Teyla didn't speak of the strange music, though Dean was sure she noticed. The village slid onto the jumper's screen display. In no time, Dean was landing on the far side of the huts. The landing jolted both Dean and Teyla. Damnit, Dean was going to get better at that.

"Thank you," Teyla said. She walked out of the jumper first.

Dean stood beside her and waited. He had seen construction on the north side of the village. "When do you want me to pick you up?" he asked instead.

"After dusk. Perhaps 2200hrs?"

"That sounds good to me."

Dean waited. "Is there something you'd like to show me?"

Teyla looked down. "Perhaps, if you have time. The Seal is only in its beginning stages."

"Lead the way, m'lady."

Teyla walked to the other end of the village with purpose. Dean followed, keeping an eye out for any hostiles. Chances were slim in Teyla's home but Dean was still alive because he was a suspicious bastard. They stopped on the edge of the stone circle. The Seal was placed on the path nearest to the stargate. Logically, the wraith would have to pass over it before attacking the village, unless it was an entire hive ship attacking. Then the villagers would be SOL.

Still… "The whole village worked on this?" Dean was impressed with the size and solidarity of the Seal. Even incomplete, he could feel the power rising. He had never heard of such an undertaking, unless one considered Samuel Colt's railroad pentagon. He hadn't felt any power during the fly over, but maybe the shielding on 18 kept out more than just explosions.

"How did you know? Nearly every adult assisted. I know that even my Seals will not hold a wraith at this point and I, not you, am teaching my people, but we could not wait. Anything that we can do to protect ourselves must be started immediately."

"You want my advice?"

"Please."

"Have every man, woman and child in the village add a stone to the outer circle at the very least. The more each individual adds to the whole will strengthen it, but the kids must be involved. As young as you can possibly go, the old people too. If they are all involved, that thing will protect them their whole life."

Teyla brightened. "So our Seal will work?"

"Lady, if you keep on that track, it will last longer than the Seal I put in front of the Gate. Of course the fun part will be burying the whole thing in the proper order and depth."

Teyla relaxed. "That is very good news. I will inform my village. We ask that in exchange for a meal on your every visit for as long as you are on Atlantis, that you will oversee the installation."

"I've heard good things about your food," Dean said.

"I have spoken to Dr. Beckett," Teyla continued. "He believes that your body needs all the added sugar that you can possibly get. If you radio ahead, we will be sure to have a dessert as well."

Dean knew how high a commodity sugar was in the Pegasus galaxy. For these people, it was a fair trade. "Agreed."

Dean's days were busy. He still had the night shift patrolling the city and he had to sleep sometime. He filled up his computer with all the crazy ideas that had come to him while studying for this mission. He enjoyed the different programs McKay had seen fit to leave on his computer. He had never been this organized before. He transferred his previous inventions' research onto the computer and improved on all of them.

He had new ideas too. He really wanted to retrofit a jumper into a weapon. When he wasn't in his lab or distracting Ash, he was figuring out a way to make it work. He had to read through all the various research papers from the science department and that was a trial to him. Their papers were I_so boring_/I even on the non-boring stuff.

Teyla and her village's Seal was always a good distraction from the papers. The best part was that Dean just had to give orders and the villagers would carry them out. The Seal was coming along nicely and they had buried two layers already. Dean knew that the Seal was close to completion, but he was surprised when Teyla approached him about a ceremony where every member of the village bring a rock to place on the outer circle and then a celebration and feast afterwards. Dean was always up for a party and readily agreed. If he could have figured out a way to bring Ash to the party, he would have. Unfortunately, Weir was holding fast to her rule about Ash staying only in the non-restricted areas of Atlantis.

According to Dean's report, he was just going out to his explosives lab on the day of the party. It was supposed to be a normal outing. He knew that Teyla would never turn him in. When he arrived, he could feel the currents of both sadness and celebration. He nudged one of the children who came to greet him. "Is something wrong?"

The boy nodded slowly. "Lasi went into labor yesterday when she was carrying her rock to the Seal. The baby girl didn't make it. I don't know why they didn't ask for an Atlantis doctor. We found out this morning. After the celebration, we'll bury little Veyna."

"Oh." There wasn't much Dean could say about that. He sent the kids away when he caught up to Teyla. "Is everyone going to be able to participate in the final part?"

"Yes." Teyla searched Dean's face. "Do not mourn for Veyna, Dean. Her mother was sure that the baby was not well. Veyna had not moved in days and was weeks early."

This was a hard land and a tough people. Dean tried to smile and then moved on. He glanced at the setting sun. "We should start."

"We are waiting for you."

Dean nodded and then strode to the 'top' of the Seal embedded in the ground. All eyes were on him. He had to admire the craftsmanship that went into the Seal. "You guys did good. Let's finish this. Start here and everyone add a rock or three to the outer circle. Just whatever you can comfortably carry. Teyla, you first. Kannan, you last."

Teyla stepped forward with her rock on her hip. She laid it on the circle and then stepped back. One by one, family by family, every member of the village stepped forward and put a rock on the Seal. Dean had to smile at the little boys that had filled every pocket full of rocks. They had to dig out handful after handful. The little rocks filled in the cracks between the bigger rocks. One old man who had been waiting surged ahead in line. He dropped his rock on the Seal and stepped back. Dean was surprised at the rudeness until he realized that the old man was breathing funny.

"I'll take him to Atlantis if he wants," he murmured to Teyla.

Teyla nodded and slipped off to investigate. She returned shaking her head. The old man was already dead.

Dean presided over the finishing touches of the Seal thinking: Two dead, both of natural causes. One at the end of his life and one just beginning hers. The ying and yang didn't get much more black and white.

Dean grabbed Teyla's elbow and pulled her back from the crowd around the cooling corpse. "I've got an idea to make the Seal stronger but don't get offended and you can never tell anyone at Atlantis."

Teyla glanced back at the old man. "What is it?"

"I drain the blood from that guy and from the stillborn and pour it on top." It was messy and dangerous for a multitude of reasons but Dean had to offer the chance to the village. They already put so much into the Seal, might as well go whole hog.

Teyla stared at him in disbelief.

"Never mind, I never said anything."

"No. Give me a moment." She looked down and breathed in and out. The old man had insisted on helping bring a stone even though he knew that it would be exhausting. Knowing the kind of people in the village, the old man might have even known that it would kill him. "You promise that it would strengthen the Seal."

"No doubt about it. I put my blood into my paint mixture."

Teyla nodded and then nodded again. "McKay assumed that was a mistake. An accident. I didn't realize... I will discuss it with Kannan."

"There's more."

Teyla looked a bit wary and bewildered. "What is it?"

"If you bury the bodies where I say and bury two more Seals –they only have to be one layer each- exactly where I say, you might –just might- get a complete circle of protection around the village out of it. I'm stretching here, but the theory is sound."

"I would have to discuss this with the families."

"Do it quick and make sure you stress that none of this can even be whispered to the people of Atlantis. They wouldn't understand. They would think that I'm crazy and that would undo most of my Seals and…" he trailed off helplessly.

Teyla land a hand on Dean's arm. "I promise that whatever our decision, the suggestion will not be mentioned to the people of Atlantis."

Dean trusted Teyla's word. He waited impatiently for the village to come to an agreement. He went for a walk to avoid the curious and horrified looks. He needed to get the villagers some iron to connect the dots. Iron wire from his experiments would help until he could get some serious metal in place. He wished he could discuss this with Bobby. The older hunter would love to hear about the strength of a village Seal. Teyla found him looking up at a tree and thinking about the logistics.

She approached him solemnly. "My people have agreed. You may harvest the blood of Nedden and Veyna for the Seal."

Dean nodded. "Do you have someplace where I can do it and a something I can put it in?"

"You may use Nedden's home. Veyna's parents have offered a jar for use and burial."

"Which one is Nedden's?"

Teyla pointed it out. Dean walked slowly to the indicated hut and then inside. Like the rest of Teyla's people, Nedden had been poor and proud. Kannan and the other men of the village carried in Nedden's body. Dean directed them to place him on the wooden table and then ushered them out. They didn't need to see this. He tried to arrange the body into something that looked comfortable. Then he tied the body in place. Next, he started piling stuff under the table legs at Nedden's feet. He was trying to tilt the table to make all the blood rush to his head.

A knock at the door.

Dean answered it to find Teyla talking softly to a man and a woman. The woman was holding a cloth-wrapped bundle. The man was holding a clay jar. Dean held his hands out for the jar. The man handed it over without a word. Dean took it inside and then returned for the baby. The woman was crying softly.

"I'm sorry," Dean told her.

Lasi shook her head. "It is a good thing to die and to be able to protect your family." She handed him the tiny bundle.

Dean was gentle with the bundle as he carried her inside.

Teyla followed. "Do you need assistance?"

"No." He was carefully unwrapping the little girl. She had been so tiny. The good news was that Lasi must have been holding the baby since she had died. All of her blood had settled in her butt. Dean took hold of his silver knife from his wrist and very carefully opened the veins and arteries in the little one's back. He held her over the jar until the blood stopped dripping. Then he wrapped the baby back up.

He handed the baby to Teyla. "What you are going to do is bury the bodies at either side of the Seal. You need to make them equidistant from the Seal, so that with the two extra Seals, they'll surround the village. You're making a pentagon. Understand?"

"Yes. Three Seals and the two bodies would be at the five points around the village."

"Right." Dean moved the jar. It was now underneath Nedden's head. He used his silver knife again to slit the carotid arteries. He stepped back and watched the blood drain out of the frail old man. He found himself murmuring blessings from various Earth religions. He noticed Teyla when she returned empty-handed. She must have handed the baby off to her family. "You have a special prayer for a natural death, right?"

"Yes. A song."

"Sing it now, please."

Teyla stood by Dean's side and sang. She had a beautiful voice. Teyla's song finished before the body was empty of blood.

At last, Nedden had been drained. Teyla prepared the body in the way in her people as Dean returned all the items he had used to its place in Nedden's house.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

"Yes."

"Let's do this." Dean walked to the top of the Seal and started pouring slowly. He treated it with the same respect that he would give to gunpowder. Finally, Dean poured the last of the blood on the stone, completing the circle. He had judged correctly and had made it all the way around. It was one continuous circle of blood. He looked up at a worried Teyla. "Don't worry. Your village made this Seal of Solomon out of stone and blood, life and sweat, young and old. It will protect the village."

Then out of nowhere a wave of power, no, it was a tsunami that crashed over Dean.

He knew no more.

Dean woke up to beeping machines and the infirmary of Atlantis. "Ah hell," he muttered. This was too familiar. He didn't even do most of the work for Seal in the village.

"Dr. Beckett," Teyla called. "Sergeant Winchester is awakening."

"Right on schedule. Sergeant," Dean heard in a Scottish accent, "Dean, please open your eyes, lad."

Dean took a deep breath and told his eyelids to open up damnit. They did and thankfully, Beckett had dimmed the lights. It didn't hurt too much. Teyla and Beckett were hovering. Ohlman and Pacosky were also within sight. "Hey."

"Do you remember what happened, lad," Beckett asked.

"Seal at the village."

"Yes." Beckett instantly turned grim. "After what happened at the Gate you should have known to have a medical team on stand-by and…"

"And a science team," McKay said from Dean's right. "Atlantis picked up the energy readings all the way from the mainland, but there's not enough. We could have gathered vital data."

"Rodney," Beckett chided. "If you upset my patient, you will not be allowed in the infirmary."

"Fine," McKay bit out. "I'm leaving. I'll chew you out later, Winchester."

"Looking forward to it," Dean muttered. "So Doc. When can I get out of here? And when can I lose the needles?" He waved at the IV line. He shifted up in bed and realized that he also had a catheter in. Damnit.

Beckett gave him a knowing look. "You've been unconscious for a while. We've been feeding you a nutrient solution and electrolytes as fast as we can and your body has been processing them faster. We had a feeding tube to your stomach until an hour ago."

His throat did seem dry and rough. Teyla handed Dean some water with a straw in it and to his horror, he couldn't hold the cup. His hands were weak and shaky. Teyla didn't blink, but held the cup for him. He swallowed his pride and took a couple sips.

"Get comfortable, Sergeant," Beckett said. "You will be here for a while."

"Can I at least lose the tubes," Dean whined.

"Tomorrow, if your vitals improve enough."

"Doc."

"No, Sergeant." Beckett's voice and posture promised no compromise. Damnit. The doc glanced around. "Visiting hours are over in thirty minutes. And no upsetting my patient." He got enough murmurs of agreement to be satisfied before wandering off.

Dean rubbed his forehead. His headache was developing with lightening speed. He glanced around and noticed a very grim Sheppard on the edge of the group. He turned back to Teyla. "How long was I out?"

"Four days."

Dean winced. His head hurt like the dickens. "Whoops."

"We could I_see_/I the power." Teyla stood. "I will ask Doctor Beckett for some pain reliever."

Dean tried to grab her arm. He missed but she stopped anyway. "It's not your fault, Teyla." He didn't want her nursing him out of guilt.

Teyla stood straight and met his eyes honestly. Dean didn't see pity. He did see worry and self-blame. "At least some of the fault belongs to me, Dean Winchester. I have been briefed on the relationship between your health and the seals and yet, I suggested that we hold the celebration feast after completion, not as a meal before." She hurried away.

Sheppard, Ohlman and Pacosky came closer. Dean glanced from Sheppard to Ohlman to Pacosky and then back to Sheppard. "Sirs."

"I know Teyla," Sheppard started out, "and I've seen the Seal. She would have wanted every advantage for her people. I know that she roped you into it, but that Seal has been in the works for a long while and yet no one on Atlantis even knew it was happening."

Dean had no defense for that one. "Yes, sir?"

Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Did it even occur to you that you might pass out again?"

"No, sir," Dean could say honestly. "I was barely involved until the end. More of a supervisor than anything else."

"Well, from now on, you are not allowed to even supervise a Seal installation without informing both your CO and the medical team. According to new orders that will be distributed today, anyone with the least bit of affinity for creating the Seals will do so under supervision. I don't care if the others do it in the rec hall, but no one is going to even practice alone. Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir."

Sheppard huffed. "Good." He huffed again. "I'm sure that McKay will have lots more to say to you. Just get better soon, Marine. Beckett won't like it if you start holding classes in here. Well, your regular classes. We all agreed that since his teams don't have enough time to come to your classes, that they'll learn from you while you're in here."

"Yes, sir." Dean was going to be dreaming of that stupid Seal forever. He'll be better at it than Bobby before this tour was over.

"Good. Get better, Winchester. Soon."

"Yes sir."

Sheppard finally left and only Ohlman and Pacosky –and Teyla back with meds- remained. Dean tossed back the pain reliever pills and hoped that the doc had enough mercy to give him the good stuff. Finally he faced his team. "Sir, I really had no idea that anything like this could happen. I thought all the power was already in the Seal."

Ohlman pointed at him. "Winchester, just follow the new orders."

"Yes sir." Dean was relieved to get off lightly.

Ohlman left. Dean only had to face his friend. Then he made a realization. "Where's Ash?" he asked warily.

"Brig," Pacosky answered shortly as he sat in the chair opposite Tayla.

Dean rubbed his face. "Ah hell. How much damage did he do?"

"Do you want to hear about the strung out dance in the mess in his tighty-whities? He threw a punch at Lorne, by the way. Just after he tried to kiss the major. Or do you want to know about the 3-D Asgard orgy that became everyone's screensaver while you were laying down on the job?"

Dean huffed a laugh. He had known about the Asgard program but had managed to sabotage it several times so that Ash wouldn't spread it around. He also knew where Ash had gotten the weed from. Dean had previously monitored that use as well. "Hell. How mad is Weir?"

"I do believe that her ire is focused on General O'Neill," Teyla said.

"She also had a discussion with Biology about controlled substances and professionalism," Pacosky added. "Ash is drying out cold turkey under the careful eye of a medical team."

"Hell." He rubbed his eyes and realized just how tired he was.

Teyla's gentle hands pushed him back. "Visiting hours are over. You should sleep."

"Wait. Wait." Dean's mind fought to surface. There was something important he needed to… what did he need to do?

"Rest Dean Winchester," Teyla said softly. "Construction of the protection for my people and my village continues exactly as you instructed. We all await your approval to our work, Shaman. We have postponed the feast until you could attend."

Shaman? "Shaman? Cryin' out loud!" Some of O'Neill's favorite phrases had snuck into Dean's vocabulary without him realizing it. "You're kidding me."

"Rest Dean Winchester," Teyla repeated her order.

The meds and Dean's own body demanded that he obey. At least no one in Atlantis knew about the blood. Dean rested. Teyla and Pacosky would keep watch.

Dean's days and nights in the infirmary were both a blur and boring. One notable event was when Major Lorne stopped by with a stack of blank paper for the nurses and doctors to practice drawing the Seal.

Knowing that the major was the lone Luddite on Atlantis, Dean was sincere with his, "Thank you, major." Lorne was the only one ordering paper from Earth and now Dean was stealing more from him.

Lorne waved it away and eyed him. "You look better. Teyla was frantic when she reported that you went down."

Dean didn't wince but he wanted to. "That had not been the plan, sir."

Lorne pulled up a chair. "I need you to come up with a plan to ride herd on Ash."

Dean blinked. "You want to ride herd on Ash?"

"No. I don't want to ride herd. I want less to have to dodge a messy kiss from the man. For being as wasted as he was, he threw a good punch."

"That's Ash. He must think you're pretty, sir. Normally he limits his harassment the opposite sex."

Lorne frowned. He hoped that it was the drugs talking and not the sergeant. Unfortunately, it sounded like jarhead humor to him. "Ash gets out of the brig tomorrow. I want a schedule for him by then. That's my price for my paper."

"Yes, sir."

At 0600, Lorne walked into the infirmary. He wasn't expecting much, but any help the sergeant could give him would be appreciated. If Winchester didn't have anything written now, Lorne wouldn't be able to swing by the infirmary until 1330. Ash was allowed out of the brig and into Lorne's care at 0800. That made for a very long day. To his surprise, Winchester roused as soon as Lorne stepped near.

"Sergeant," he called softly. "You should be resting."

"'M fine," the sergeant muttered. Blindly, he reached for the table on his other side. His hand connected with paper. He grabbed three sheets and handed them to Lorne.

Lorne accepted it gratefully. He was surprised that it was less of a schedule and more of a decision tree. If Ash said or did such-n-that, than Lorne could leave him at the pool table. If Ash said this or that, Lorne was advised not to let Ash out of sight and no more than ten feet away at all times. Winchester had appropriate rewards and punishments detailed for more eventualities that Lorne had considered. Winchester had surprised him again. For once in his life, he had interpreted the spirit of law instead of the letter of the law. Lorne would reap the benefits. This would help Lorne more than any schedule.

"Should work," Winchester muttered.

"Yes," Lorne agreed. "If this as complete as I imagine, you will make a great gunny or officer some day. A battalion of Marines should be cakewalk compared to Ash." Lorne met Winchester's horrified face with serious eyes. The man didn't want command and it was obvious.

"Sir? Me? An officer?"

Lorne nodded once. "Have good dreams, Sergeant."

"I think you're trying to give me nightmares."

"I think all those meds are messing with your head," Lorne countered. He turned on his heel and walked away. Lorne didn't let his smile slip out until he was two hallways away.

Out of boredom, Dean bugged the medical staff into learning the Seal as he was instructed, to the point where they sent Sue Collins his way just to get him to stop. Dean didn't mind. He had been trying to corner her for a while. He had sent the still guilty-feeling Teyla to his bunk for the files. Since he had Collins at his mercy, he started out strong. He attached the first and the last of the newspaper articles that Missouri sent him to his paperwork at the end of the bed. He watched Collins turn white when she realized what she had been reading when she picked up his chart.

"So you wanna talk about it to the one person on this expedition who will believe you?" he asked her.

"How did you find out?" she asked in return.

"I had a suspicion that something like this had to happen to you for your Seal to work. You had to tell the SGC everything to get in. I just had to match your home addresses to notable jobs. Isaac and Tamara are good people."

Collins finally sat down in the chair by his bed. "Isaac and Tamara? Are those their names? I never saw them, just talked to them on the phone. I knew that they were a man and a woman. The woman –Tamara- had to calm me down."

"When your baby brother went missing," Dean filled in the blank. "It was a ghost, wasn't it?"

Collins nodded. "I knew about the ghost in the attic and she gave me the creeps, but I wouldn't let Stephen go up there without me. I had been trying to find someone to help me for months and you remember how research was before the internet."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Finding jobs was all about being in the right place at the right time and catching it in the local newspaper. Or someone giving you a heads up. Library stacks and back issue newspapers were horrible to comb through."

"I guess so," she agreed. "I thought that it was just luck on my end. I would take my allowance money to the payphone down at the corner and make phone calls to the mystics in the phonebook until someone took me seriously. Then some man told me to try Isaac and Tamara and gave me their number. I called them and they promised to look into it. That weekend, Rissi White was having her thirteenth birthday party, a sleepover. I made Stephen promise to stay out of the attic and considered all my bases covered."

Dean knew the next part of the story. He was shaking his head as he said, "Little brother went into the attic."

"Yes." Collins could keep most of her fear off her face, but a whisper of it still shook her. "Stephen had been missing for eighteen hours before anyone even told me. My parents had been in communication with Mr. and Mrs. White. They knew I was safe and they didn't have to worry about me running off to find Stephen."

"Which you did as soon as you found out."

"My parents and the cops had already searched the entire attic and hadn't found a thing. I called up Tamara and I was hysterical. I'm not even sure what I told her. She promised me that they were on the job. She told me to go back up to the attic in two hours and if I saw anything or if my brother didn't return, to call her back."

"So did you get to see the ghost go poof?"

"You are enjoying this way too much," Collins said disdainfully. It was, after all, the most traumatic experience of her childhood.

Dean tried to get her to accept it the only way he knew. "Dude! Do you know how long it's been since I've had a case? Let alone a case where no one got seriously hurt? That's practically a storybook ending in my world."

Collins blinked and smiled sweetly. "So you ending up in the care of medical professionals is nothing new?"

"I didn't say that!" Dean blustered a bit before asking again. "Did you get to see the ghost go poof?"

Collins nodded. "That was more frightening than reassuring. A quick search revealed my brother afterward. He was unconscious. I had to call the cops to get a hold of my parents. Everyone was out searching for Stephen in the neighborhood. My parents arrived just as the ambulance did. We spent the next few days in the hospital waiting for Stephen to get better and saying 'I don't know' to the cops."

Dean grinned. "Why do you think I've been so vague about the Seal to… I don't know… everyone?"

"I hadn't connected that event to my ability to make a Seal work."

"I think that I am the supernatural event to my team that makes them able to work a Seal," Dean said, "but I didn't have any such reason for your ability."

Collins smirked, "You do seem to have a habit of being in the center of unexplainable, traumatic events."

Dean shrugged and Collins noticed how tired he was. "Lean back," she ordered. "Get some rest."

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered and obeyed.

Collins was pulling the privacy curtain around and then paused. "Sergeant?"

"Yes'm?"

"Could you help me convey my thanks to Isaac and Tarama?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Thank you. We'll speak of it later."

"Yes'm." Dean slept and dreamt of digging up a grave and salting and burning the body. It was a pretty good dream, as both Sam and Dad were in it and not sniping at each other and nobody got hurt. Like Dean had told Sue Collins: practically a storybook ending.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"What do you know about minefields?" Elizabeth asked when she cornered Dean in the middle of the mess. He had been regulated to light duty and teaching since the incident on the mainland, but it was still difficult to find the sergeant when he didn't want to be found. The mess was the only way to truly corner the man, much to the amusement of the higher staff.

"Land, sea or air?" Winchester asked back.

"I was thinking more along the lines of space, for a first line of defense."

The Marine was suddenly paying attention and not looking for an escape route. "I read the reports of the first siege we survived. The mines were highly ineffective, wiped out by the wraith with asteroids."

"They did buy us some time," reminded Elizabeth.

"The Ancients' weapons platform was better."

Once again this Marine managed to come up with an idea not previously considered within the realm of possibilities. "We don't have nearly enough materials to construct a weapons platform as efficient as the Ancients."

"But we have more puddlejumpers than pilots and a weapons platform based on that could have cloaking capabilities."

Elizabeth blinked. "How would you accomplish that?"

Winchester used the touch pad on his computer to find a file before showing her the screen. Elizabeth happened to see the filing pathway as the proposal was opening: c:/Winchester/atlantis/weapons/space/aintnoway/puddleplatform. The knowledge she gained from that brief glance was tantalizing. Considering that McKay and Sheppard had practically forced the computer onto Winchester, he certainly had filled it up in a short time. Though, he had been regulated to bed rest for a while, with only his computer for company. Even McKay could get mountains of work done in the infirmary.

Then the file loaded and she was instantly intrigued. Despite the pessimism of the 'ain't no way' file, Winchester had organized his idea in an official proposal format. Winchester paged through the multi-page introduction to an enlarged schematic of a puddlejumper. He had used arrows to show what he wanted to rip out (the DHD, planetary sensors) and what he wanted replace it with (a smaller version of the Ancients' weapon powered by a naquada generator). He had included options, such as disposing of the life support systems and making it entirely maintained by a person in an EVA. Winchester had also stolen parts of Rodney and Zelenka's research and made it so the weapon could be fired from Atlantis' Chair- remote controlled, as it were.

Winchester obviously read all the reports available of the siege. He was trying to minimize losses at every turn.

"How long would it take you to build this?"

It was only now that Winchester hesitated. "Without changing my current responsibilities or schedule? Eight or nine months."

On Earth, such a timeframe would have been nearly miraculous, but on Atlantis, where they were often living day to day, it was an interminable amount of time. Nonetheless, Elizabeth teased him. "You would be cutting out winning every pool and poker tournament in the city." And he would not be picking up any of his old duties. She and John had discussed permanently disbanding Winchester's gate team anyway since they were the most proficient at the Seal, far above anyone else. They wanted to spread around that ability.

Winchester merely grinned as he acknowledged his undefeated status. "A guy's got to make some sacrifices."

"But not all of them," she mock chastised. "I understand that there is a SGA-SGC competition planned the next time you're on Earth and you can't be out of practice for that. I already have money on you with a bet with General O'Neill."

Winchester glowed with pleasure at her confidence in him. "I'll take it into consideration, ma'am."

"Back to your timeframe, what if I gave you a crew?"

"I would borrow a couple scientists from time to time, but they all have their own projects. And of course, I'll need Sheppard to launch it and to test it."

"This will need an incredible amount of computer programming. As I recall, that isn't your forte."

"No, ma'am. I'd get Ash to do it. We work pretty good together and it'll help keep him out of trouble."

Considering some of Ash's escapades, Elizabeth wasn't sure she wanted the man near anything this sensitive, but then, neither did she want Ash roaming the city while Winchester was otherwise occupied. So she just nodded. "I want your entire proposal e-mailed to both myself and to McKay today."

Winchester nodded but looked a bit confused. "Not to Sheppard?"

Now she smiled. "I want you to e-mail Sheppard the entire 'weapons' folder, including the 'ain't no way' sub-folder. In the e-mail message, stress the priority on the puddlejumper weapons platform."

As Elizabeth had previously noted, Winchester didn't have many tells, but she knew that she had surprised him. He had underestimated her. He also looked a bit embarrassed. "Ma'am," he hedged. "There are a lot of half-baked ideas in those folders."

"I expect that, but I still want Sheppard to have an idea of possibilities available to us. I'll also ask him to prioritize them with what he considers to be most useful."

"Yes ma'am." Elizabeth knew that Winchester planned on withholding some of his ideas, but John would still be overwhelmed (and overjoyed) with the possibilities.

"Dean?" Elizabeth deliberately used the young man's first name as a warning.

"Yes'm?"

"Why were you so pessimistic of your chances of getting this project approved?"

"There are only a few naquada generators and many other actual scientists competing for the power. There are also a finite number of puddlejumpers. I had wondered about the puddlejumpers on M5S-285, thinking we could trade for some of their mostly defunct ones, but still, there are problems. I'm not sure that McKay will be pleased with some of the components of Atlantis that I need to scavenge to make it work."

Put that way, Elizabeth could see the problems. As it were, McKay would have to make a decision of whose project would get the ax to give the generator to Winchester. Or they might use one of the generators they had on reserve for emergencies. McKay might also rightfully refuse the project due to whatever Winchester wanted to take from Atlantis. Elizabeth made a mental note to forward the project on to Zelenka. McKay often treated the city as if it were his baby and his alone. Zelenka would offer a more unbiased opinion.

"Anything else, ma'am?" Winchester asked.

"No, you're free to go."

"Thank you ma'am."

She watched him walk away with a spring in his step. There were so many layers to the young man. She wondered if anyone had gotten close enough to peek at them all.

"Has everyone had a chance to read Winchester's proposal for making an orbital weapons station out of a puddlejumper?" Elizabeth asked at the beginning of the scientific part of the management meeting.

Ronon, who had been standing to leave as was his habit for this part of the meeting, returned to his seat. The other members of the meeting straightened with interest and some started nodding.

"First, Rodney, is it feasible?"

Rodney scowled, but not one caused by someone's stupidity. "I think it would work with a little tweaking."

"Very little," Zelenka added. "Winchester has taken into account every variable that we could come up with. In a quick simulation, it worked nine times out of ten."

"Okay. Next question: can we afford to give him all the materials that he needs to build it?"

"No," McKay said as Zelenka said, "Yes."

"What does Winchester want that we can't give him?" asked Elizabeth.

"He wants one of the back-up stabilizers from the city." McKay sounded insulted at the idea.

"It's a back-up," Ronon spoke what everyone else thought. "Why can't he have it?"

McKay glared at the alien. "The Ancients didn't create redundant systems because of aesthetics. They have back-up systems because they were needed."

"But the stabilizers will only be used if the city flies again," Zelenka argued, obviously a well-rehearsed discussion. "We might never have the ZPMs needed for such a venture."

"Atlantis I_will_/I fly again. We go out every day looking for ZPMs. We'll find some eventually."

"The odds of that event are less likely than the chances of the Wraith finding us," John broke in. "This is a solution that we can work on right now."

"And if the Wraith find us before the eight months is up? What then?"

"Then we'd be half-way to a solution and we could pull every available scientists to finish the weapons platform." Elizabeth still had nightmares of the last siege, the hopelessness and the futility. "We wouldn't be scrambling for any idea, any thing that might work."

McKay threw up his hands. "Why are you all so sure that removing the back-up stabilizer is such a good idea? We will probably need it if-when we get the city back into space."

"Rodney," John said, "we're all sure that if we get Atlantis into space and the stabilizer fails, you will be able to fix it then. We believe that you will be able to take care of any problems we might encounter."

"Oh." Rodney paused, "Flattery will… not get my agreement."

John countered, "It's honesty."

"No, you're just playing to my ego."

"Are you saying that you couldn't have fixed one puny stabilizer?" Ronon challenged.

"Midflight?" McKay screeched. "Have you any idea how complicated that is?"

Teyla smiled as she joined the discussion. "We know how smart you are."

Rodney huffed. "You all obviously are for the idea. Why does my opinion count?"

"You are the one who decides where Winchester's generator will come from," Elizabeth reminded. "You are also the one who would be called upon to ensure it works."

Rodney waved away the first question. "Give him Cavanaugh's generator," he said with malicious humor.

Zelenka nodded in agreement. "Yes, that is good plan."

"Actually…" Rodney's voice trailed away and then he smiled. "We should see about trading with the people of M5S-285. Their outpost is much like Atlantis. We never did explore the entire place. They might have the stabilizers that Winchester needs and seeing as it is under several strata of dirt, that place will never fly again, why not scavenge it from there?"

"There's an idea," John agreed. "Permission to approach M5S-285 with our request for a stabilizer and a couple more of old puddlejumpers."

"Permission granted," said Elizabeth. "Carson, I need a list of medical supplies we can trade. I'll also tell Winchester that his project is approved and to give me a schedule. John, do you have a team that can excavate the stabilizer from the Tower?"

"Yeah. Winchester can lead it. He's got experience spelunking and he knows what he's looking for."

"Yes, but does he have the time," Elizabeth asked. Then she turned to Carson. "More importantly, is he cleared medically?"

Carson shrugged. "I have no idea how he transforms energy into a shield. It should not happen. In every other manner, Sergeant Winchester is one-hundred percent human. The mere fact that he can teach his skill to a select few indicates that he is not an isolated incident. We closely monitored his teaching in the infirmary; he used far too much energy. I worry but if he doesn't make a shield, he should be fine."

"Do you think that maybe Dean has some other alien race DNA?" John Sheppard asked idly. All eyes turned to him. "Kinda like the ATA gene, but something else? It would explain the hit or miss nature of those that can make a working seal. Or a seal that Winchester thinks would work."

Carson brightened at the thought. "Elizabeth? May I try to find the gene?"

"Go for it," Elizabeth said with a smile. That had been her pet theory as well. "As long as you have time."

"That makes the most scientific sense," McKay admitted. "But statistically, look at those showing the most promise: Ohlman and Pacosky and Teyla. The fact that Teyla has it –whatever I_it_/I is- too makes the DNA theory suspect. Because of Ohlman and Pacosky, I'm thinking that it's environmental. I haven't found the cause yet, but I will."

"Don't let it distract from your other work, Rodney," Elizabeth warned. "Speaking of which, Rodney, did you answer the last page in Winchester's proposal?"

Rodney grinned. "You mean 'Stupid Questions for McKay to Deride and then Answer'? Yes, I did. It's mostly about fail-safes, ways to keep the platform from being used against us. Working with different self-destructs. I typed up the answers and came up with a few more fail-safes. I propose that my staff and I try to hack the computer when I_Ash_/I is done making a mess of it. If we win, we write the program."

Elizabeth wanted the best but she also wanted good working relations within the city. She wasn't sure McKay's proposal would accomplish that. "I'll take it under advisement. What's next on the list?"

Ronon beat a hasty retreat. The interesting part of the meeting was over.

Lorne looked up from his paperwork at the knock. Winchester was standing there. Lorne waved him in, "Yes, Sergeant?"

"Sir, did you hear that I'm to lead an expedition to M5S-285? See if their Tower has the stabilizers that I need for a puddlejumper?"

"Yes and it should be a good experience in leadership for you. Short term and with a clear purpose. See if you can make sure that none of our Marines, especially those with the ATA gene knock up any of the 'upper class ladies' while you're there." Lorne said it just to make Winchester turn a little green. Lorne flipped through his piles until he found what he was looking for. "These are the men assigned to you for the mission."

Winchester accepted the list of names and nodded approvingly. "Thank you, sir." He folded the paper into thirds and slid it into his BDU jacket pocket. While he was there, he slid out another set of papers. "This is for you, sir."

Lorne accepted the folded papers warily and opened them. They were a decision tree, though similar in some respects to the previous one, it was a lot more elaborate. Lorne deflated, "Ash is not allowed off planet."

"Yes sir. And Weir looked at me like I grew a second head when I suggested it. She's not going to change her mind and honestly, Ash would be worse than useless down there."

Lorne pinched his nose. Days –possibly weeks- of riding herd on the druggie because there was no way that they could find a working stabilizer under all that dirt in less than one hundred seventy hours. He should have seen this coming. "Thank you for this, Sergeant. It might keep your friend out of the brig."

Winchester nodded. "Weir did accept my proposal of bringing back my chosen puddlejumper before I leave and Ash does know what I need in the programming. He can start on that. Dr. Miko is going to be McKay's contribution while I'm gone. She'll make sure that Ash is concentrating on the puddlejumper and not in parts of Atlantis' programming that he shouldn't be. Dr. Miko is nice enough but too much alone time with Ash and he'll suffer an 'accident'."

Lorne nodded. "I'll include the jumper bay into every round and patrol I make while you're gone." He would talk to Miko and see if they could schedule a minor accident or two. Carson and his team could take care of the druggie for a while. In this case, Lorne believed in spreading the misery around. If there was any way to make General O'Neill pay for the original decision that brought that man to Atlantis, Lorne was going find it.

Lorne realized that Winchester was waiting. "Dismissed Sergeant. Have a quick and successful mission."

Winchester smirked. "Thank you, sir. I'll try."

The next few weeks passed by in a blur for Dean. If he wasn't on M5S-285 digging for the flight stabilizer, he was trying to guess where it could be under the dirt. He was rarely on Atlantis, sleeping and eating on the planet. The social scientists had used Dean and his Marines as an excuse to observe a society after a major but nearly bloodless coup. The scientists gave Dean more trouble than the Marines. The Marines, Dean could work into exhaustion. He didn't have the time to watch the scientists make fools out of themselves. Idiots, Dean could ignore, but then the scientists nearly got them kicked off the planet.

He sent a frantic message to Lorne. Lorne showed up for a couple hours, reported that Ash was in the brig and had a little talk with the scientists. Whatever he said worked. The scientists were no longer causing problems with the ruling class. Dean was so thankful that he sent Lorne some ideas for keeping Ash out of trouble.

The first stabilizer that Dean and his crew unearth had been crushed by the weight of the dirt above it. Dean was scared that all of the stabilizers would be in the same shape. If he didn't get a stabilizer from M5S-285, there was a good chance that his project would be cancelled before it had even begun. Dean mapped out the rest of the tower and guesstimated on the location of the second stabilizer. He was hopeful as the caves in this part of the city were sturdier. They suffered less cave-ins. His team was responsible and probably knew more about excavation than he did. They were very careful under the dirt and never let their guard down.

Finally they found it. It took them another two days to bring the stabilizer to the surface. Dean had to dismantle it further so that it could be transported in three puddlejumper trips. While down in the hole, he grabbed any part of the crystals or connection tubes that looked in good shape.

At last, Dean could return to Atlantis with all the scavenged parts needed for the orbiting weapons platform. Whatever relaxation Dean hoped to gain by being back in the city was wiped out when he realized that Atlantis was jealous of his time in the bowel's of M5S-285's Tower. The outpost –which all ATA gene personnel agreed was male- was dying. Atlantis had nothing to be jealous of but that didn't stop her from being loud and constantly in his head. She also tried to tempt him by making more Ancient equipment work for him. So instead of 7% of all equipment working, it was bumped up to 13%. Nice, but not worth the headaches he was enduring.

Dean flew off to the mainland to escape the 'jealous non-girlfriend.' There he made as many large explosions as he could. Dean knew of no better way to relax.

Elizabeth Weir tried not to compare the delicate and diplomatic Athosian representative with the high-strung scientist. Teyla admitted that yes, Winchester was experimenting with his explosions well into the night. They were complaining –well, not Teyla- of the same events and person but at much different volumes. The fact that the Athosians were saying something at all proved the scientist was correct at the size of the explosions Winchester was making.

One thing about the reinforced complaints was that Elizabeth knew that Winchester was making good use of the laboratory provided. She hadn't been keeping as good track of the Marine's puddlejumper flights as she should have. It was good that Winchester was flying at all after all the hassle of getting him the gene therapy and then the flying lessons.

"Weir to Winchester. Come in, Dean," she called through the headset.

"Winchester here. Over." He was determined to keep any familiarity out of their relationship. She'd feel snubbed except that she knew that Dean also referred to his two closest friends as Dex and Pacosky.

"Where are you?"

"Experimental jumper bay. Over."

Elizabeth started walking that direction. "Stay there, I'll be joining you momentarily."

"Yes'm. Over and out."

Winchester was exactly where he claimed, underneath the raised jumper, pulling out systems deemed unnecessary for a weapon's platform. His strange friend, Ash, was silently sitting in the pilot's seat with a computer, intent on his work. An oddity, since the man had never turned down a chance to flirt with her –or any other female- since his arrival.

Elizabeth wandered over to the other experimental jumper, the bomb observatory. It looked like the extra shielding had taken a beating recently.

"Did you need something, ma'am?" Dean asked from her side.

"I understand that you have been spending nights at your mainland lab."

"Spills over." As with everyone else, there weren't enough hours in the day.

"I understand."

Winchester twisted his mouth. "Someone's complained."

Elizabeth nodded. "The Athosians need their sleep and according to Dr. Lentz, you would be causing earthquakes and tsunamis if the explosions get much bigger."

Winchester nodded. He might have also flushed. "The Athosians didn't mention it to me. I try to stop and chat and not just eat and run while I'm in the village."

"I believe that they loathe to critique you in any way," Elizabeth reminded him, "Shaman."

Winchester flushed again. "I wish they didn't call me that. I'm no wise man."

"They disagree. What are you working on to cause the disturbances?"

"Space mines. Smart mines to be used in space."

Elizabeth gave him her full attention. "Oh? What would make them smart?"

"I'm using drone parts and messing with them. Dr. Miko had done most of the research. We can make thirty space mines out of one drone. They'd be inert unless activated by the chair through the jumper platform. That is assuming that we get a chance to activate them before anybody can see through the cloak and destroy the platform. I also want them to be disabled if, for some unforeseeable reason, they drop out of orbit and into the atmosphere before being used."

"How is that coming?"

Winchester finally grinned and Elizabeth understood why the other females found him attractive. He was a very handsome young man. "No one complained about last night, did they?"

Considering the direction of her thoughts, Elizabeth was glad that she didn't blush as Dean's comment related to it. "No," she said. "No one mentioned last night."

"Good."

"Those mines are basically done. Well, the design, but it's easy enough that I could borrow a couple scientists for a day and get enough to fill the cargo part of the jumper to release them."

"I'm glad to hear it. How is the weapon's platform progressing?" she asked.

Dean rubbed his forehead and left a streak of dirt behind. "We're good, maybe a day behind schedule, no more than two."

Elizabeth smiled. "I am very glad to hear that. Please e-mail the upper staff an update at the end of every week. We might be able to help if we know the need."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Dean.

"I'll let you get back to work then."

"Yes, ma'am."


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"We need to bring Sergeant Winchester to My'arria," Teyla insisted. "They will trade with us if we have a shaman. Dean would qualify for their definition."

"If they want parlor tricks," Rodney mumbled, "any one of my team would qualify. They're that backwards."

Elizabeth shot Rodney a glare that shut him up. "What would qualify a shaman, Teyla?" she asked.

"They had a test. A shaman activates an Ancient device and passes through."

Elizabeth looked at John. He threw his hands up in the air. "It is Ancient, mostly, but it flatly ignored me."

"Rodney?"

"Oh, now I'm allowed to speak."

"Rodney."

"Fine. Sorry. Yes, Ancient. No, I don't know why Sheppard can't get it to work. As far as I know, it's not broken."

"Thank you, Rodney."

"All the Ancient devices react weird to Winchester," Sheppard mused. "He still can't fly a jumper that he hasn't helped fix but once he does, the jumper prefers him at the wheel. But if there's nothing wrong with the jumper initially and he's just tinkering, nothing changes. And let's not forget the Chair."

Elizabeth was distracted for a moment. "Rodney, have your teams figured out what Winchester was revealing while he was in the Chair?"

"Not a clue," Rodney sounded even more peeved. If one listened to Rodney talk about Winchester, the sergeant did everything just to confound the scientist.

"Okay, back on topic," Elizabeth turned to Teyla. "Why do you think Winchester would be the best person for this mission?"

"For all the reasons previously mentioned. If John cannot activate an Ancient device, Dean might be able to. Also, the tribal elder will ask if Dean is a shaman. Though he does not refer to himself as such, he can honestly reply that others do."

"What's on the line?" Was it worth it, sending Dean out on off-world missions again?

"They've got a third-filled ZPM that they have no use for," Rodney blurted out.

Elizabeth blinked. And now they were getting around to mentioning it? "They won't trade it with anyone else?"

Rodney snorted, "Something about a prophecy or some such ridiculous babble. Only a worthy shaman is allowed to take it."

John leaned forward to stop Rodney's tirade. "Bottom line: They don't care what we have to trade. They only care I_who_/I they are trading with."

It sounded too good to be true. "Very well," Elizabeth made the decision. "Team 1 and Team 4 are cleared for the mission to My'arria. As soon as you can get everything together."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Dismissed."

Her office cleared out in a hurry.

"Samuel Winchester?"

Sam looked up from his study notes and his gaze instantly became shuttered. The general in the Air Force blues was horribly out of place on the Stanford University campus. Brian Quaid, Sam's study partner for History of Law immediately crossed his arms across his chest looking defiant. The general had a lackey at his elbow and wasn't the least concerned about the glares he was receiving from the students around.

"I'm not interested," Sam said.

The man took two steps forward and spoke quietly. "It's about your brother."

What the hell was Dean involved in now? And how badly would the aftershocks shake Sam's world? "I haven't seen or talked to my brother in three years."

"I know, but he still listed you as next of kin."

Not the earthquake he was expecting, but the ground beneath his feet was starting to tilt dangerously. "He's dead?"

"Not yet." The general looked around as the many eavesdroppers. Most didn't even pretend that they weren't listening. "Look, can we talk in private?"

Sam nodded once. Brian reached for Sam's hand. "You don't have to go with them," Brian reminded Sam. "If your brother hasn't bothered to talk to you, you don't have to do anything for him, especially if he chose the I_military_/I over his own family."

Sam pulled away. It wasn't as if Brian would understand. No one in his family had owned a gun for four generations and they were proud of it. They had protested the Civil War and every war since. Last year, Brian had gotten into a brawl with a Navy sailor, but since Brian still carried around the seaman's black-edged picture in his wallet, Sam wondered what and who had actually started the fight. None of that mattered now. "He's my brother," Sam explained.

Brian shook his head. "You're too good for him, Sam."

"My car is this way." The general led the way to the nearest parking lot, where campus security was trying to force a driver to move. The driver never did acknowledge them, but he sure hopped to when he saw the general. He opened the back door to Humvee and moved to the driver's seat. Sam was the first to get into the vehicle, the general was going to be next, but he pushed his lackey in before the man started a fight with the heckling students that had congregated.

"That's enough, Cunningham," the general chided as he got comfortable across the way from Sam and the lackey. "McCormick," he addressed the driver. "Drive around the city for a while."

"But sir…"

"Cunningham. You're here for a reason, that's not to start a fight with a bunch of co-eds."

"Yes, sir." Cunningham opened his laptop and his briefcase. He handed the general two sets of papers.

"Who are you?" Sam asked.

The general looked a little sheepish. "Jack O'Neill, with two L's."

"What are you in charge of?"

Now the general was on familiar ground. "I'll tell you after you sign the non-disclosure forms."

"No," Sam said. "What does this have to do with my brother?"

"Dean got caught in a machine, one that traps a person in their worst memories. We need your help to identify them and to bring him back to his normal self."

Sam almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. "Is that even possible?"

O'Neill shrugged. "My nerds say so. The shrinks concur. Something about targeting the part of the brain where the worst of the memories are held and how the more intense a memory is, the easier it is to find… or something. And then there's the fact that we can't get Dean to wake up."

"Why are you using Dean's first name?" Sam knew enough about the military to know that O'Neill should be saying 'Winchester.'

O'Neill flushed a little and eyed Cunningham. "He saved my life. So we keep tabs on each other."

That was news to Cunningham.

"So will you sign?"

"I want proof."

"And I need you to sign before I hand you Dean's jacket."

"No."

"McCormick," O'Neill addressed the driver. "Plan A."

"Yessir."

Sam wasn't pleased that he was so predictable. The driver didn't even change lanes. Soon, McCormick pulled onto a residential street and stopped. O'Neill opened the door and a male figure stepped into the Humvee from the blinding sun with a full duffle bag.

"I_Caleb_/I?" Sam was so stunned at the familiar face that he didn't notice the Humvee pull back into traffic.

"Hey, kid."

"What are you doing here?"

"Your brother asked me to babysit the old man."

"Hey now," O'Neill protested. "He asked you to be my bodyguard, not babysitter."

"Same thing."

O'Neill huffed. "So Winchester, Dean's signed on the dotted line, so has Caleb. If we don't get the information from you, Dean might die. None of us want that."

"Is it a spell?" Sam asked.

Cunningham choked. "Is he nuts?"

"Captain," O'Neill warned. He was quickly losing patience. "Will you sign already, Winchester?"

Sam looked at Caleb. He couldn't read the man like he could his own family but the hunter was himself and he knew what was going on and knew that Dean was in danger. "Give me the papers."

Cunningham handed over the papers. Unlike most in this situation, Sam got himself comfortable and started to read. O'Neill must have been briefed on this aspect of Sam's character, because he merely took out his own paperwork and started on it. Caleb, being a hunter, got out his knife and a whetstone and sharpened the knife.

That weirded Cunningham out, but it comforted Sam. He was so used to studying when someone else was cleaning weapons that he had a rag soaked in gun oil on his desk during finals' week.

Once Sam had read all of the fine print, he held out a hand to Cunningham for a pen and then signed. When he looked up, O'Neill was feigning engrossment in his papers.

"So what's really going on?" Sam asked.

O'Neill handed over a folder, Dean's military jacket. Sam eagerly read the high scores Dean earned in Marine boot camp (just like Dad) and then demolitions training (no surprise there) and then… "Where's the rest of this?"

"It's classified."

"I just signed a non-disclosure form," Sam reminded.

"I know. But this involves a little more. The question is: will you go where Dean is and personally help his team spring Dean from his little mental prison, or do I… and Captain Cunningham interview you and send a report to the shrink on the base? A woman that Dean has taken great pains to avoid."

No surprise there either. Dean's worst memories would all have supernatural connotations. If Sam told the truth, would the shrink even believe him? O'Neill knew all this which was why he had searched Sam out. "How long will I be gone?"

O'Neill relaxed and Sam realized that he had been played just as smoothly as if Dean had been pulling the strings. O'Neill was smarter than his first impression. Sam would watch him carefully. Sam caught Caleb's eyes and the shorter man nodded shortly. O'Neill was trust-worthy and wanted Dean to survive.

"Provided that you can save Dean within a couple of hours…" O'Neill shrugged, "A week. A couple days to get there and a couple days back, if nothing goes wrong. Dean's health was too precarious to send him home. His doc said no and I don't argue with the docs; their needles are too big."

Sam wasn't too sure what to think of the aside. "What about my classes?"

"We'll have someone explain everything that they can say, which is nothing, but Davis is really good about explaining nothing." O'Neill paused. "Davis can handle it, I'm sure."

It should have been a confusing statement but Sam recognized that O'Neill was pretty good about saying nothing while he was explaining everything. "I'm in."

O'Neill handed over yet another set of papers.

"What's this?"

"Declaring that you won't hold the US military liable if anything happens to your person while in our care."

Sam glared.

"Dean is in the middle of a hot zone."

Sam read this paperwork, signed and again wondered what the hell Dean had gotten himself into. "Why are you going through all this for my brother?"

"I told you, he helped me out of a tight spot," O'Neill said.

"Sir," the driver drew everyone's attention. "We're at the airport."

"Are you coming?" asked O'Neill.

"Don't I need to pack?"

"No. We'll supply a uniform and Dean should have all the crazy stuff you could need, he sure has asked for enough of it. You can borrow from T while you're on the base stateside. Weir will take care of you on her end. She likes your brother too."

"I'll have to call my girlfriend."

O'Neill tossed him a cell phone. "You can't tell her anything."

"You haven't told me anything," Sam countered.

O'Neill tried to look abashed and failed miserly. "Oh yeah, but I will."

Sam rang his apartment and was pleased that Jess answered the phone and not a machine. She shouldn't have been home yet. He tried to explain that his brother was in trouble and no one could find his dad. All the people from the Humvee eavesdropped shamelessly. From the rolled eyes of O'Neill, the general knew John Winchester. Cunningham was impressed with the way that Sam could fudge the truth. It was sad how fast he fell into old habits. He didn't want to lie to Jess –more than about his family history.

McCormick returned from the airport tower reporting that the Air Force jet was prepped and ready to go. He saluted the general and drove the Humvee back to wherever it came from. Caleb handed Sam his duffle bag. From the clinking, it was full of weapons. Sam refused to look inside. He itched to double-check the guns. O'Neill led the way to the jet and then sat in the pilot's seat. It didn't surprise Sam that General O'Neill would fly the plane. Caleb made himself comfortable so quickly that Sam knew that this was old hat for him. Caleb trusted the general on many levels.

O'Neill flew quietly and intently. With Cunningham there, Sam couldn't question Caleb. O'Neill wouldn't answer questions about Dean saying that Sam shouldn't distract the pilot. Sam huffed and watched the clouds drift by.

What had Dean gotten into this time? Black ops? Everyone had heard horror stories of those soldiers. John Winchester had spent some time there and Sam wondered about O'Neill. He was a little too practical and non-linear in his thinking to have been a desk jockey his entire career. Sam had too much time with his own thoughts. He knew that it was about to get worse. O'Neill had said that it would take Idays/I to get there. Sam would be crazy with worry by the time that he arrived.

Then O'Neill landed them in Colorado, which Sam only knew because Cunningham made an off hand comment. Caleb disappeared into the shadows, Cunningham was dispatched to make nice with the local air control tower and O'Neill drove them to Cheyenne Mountain.

Sam was led down into the bowels of the military complex, given BDU's and then escorted to the Gate Room.

Then he was told about aliens and the Pegasus galaxy. O'Neill handed him a briefcase full of files, had someone dial a 'gate address.' Sam overheard some argument about the worth of one Marine versus the power of a ZPM needed to open the wormhole. He didn't understand it before he was pushed through the wormhole –by O'Neill himself.

His next freezing breath was halfway between the Milky Way and Pegasus.

He used the air to curse secretive generals and annoying brothers.

The soldier welcomed him to the Mid-way station and offered to escort Sam to his temporary quarters. Sam smiled using his old you-want-to-tell-me-IeverythingI/ smile from his days of interviewing supernatural witnesses. Instead of quarters, Sam asked for coffee and a chance to pick the soldier's brain.

Corporal James Bird cheerfully agreed. The Mid-way station was a boring post, but it was strategic and needed guarding.

Sam systematically extracted every piece of useful information out of the poor Marine and he still wasn't ready for the scheduled dialing of Atlantis.

Atlantis was everything that he had dreamed of and more. The people were no nonsense and wary. They considered Dean to be one of theirs and Sam really wanted to flaunt his prior claim. Weir –the director of Atlantis- and Sheppard –the CO- tried to fill Sam in on what had occurred. They gave him the most basic of instructions about the Pegasus galaxy and then ushered him towards a puddlejumper. Thankfully, the two hadn't told him anything new. Between Bird and O'Neill, Sam had heard, read or figured out most of their warnings and standard operating procedures. He was just as eager as they for the mission to begin.

He would explore Atlantis when his brother was safe again.

Sam sat in the back of the puddlejumper (he was in a ship built by aliens over ten thousand years ago) as Colonel John Sheppard piloted them to the planet (I_planet!/_I) of My'arria. Sam knew that he had to get over this culture shock and fast, but it still blew him away. Every time he had a moment to stop and think, the alien-ness of all overwhelmed him.

"We already know that Ronon and Pacosky can follow Winchester into the Shaman Test," Sheppard reminded everyone. "Winchester –younger- is going to go with them and pull Winchester –older- out. Any questions?"

The acidic doctor muttered about voodoo and Sam resisted the impulse to educate him on how dangerous and powerful voodoo really was. Sheppard landed on My'arria and Sam wondered if voodoo was an accurate comparison. From the chocolate skin of the natives to the colorful and noisy necklaces, Sam was greatly reminded of New Orleans. Had they tried to trap Dean in their Shaman's test?

Sam followed the Atlantis team to a piece of Ancient architecture. Two men were guarding the active doorway. Sam looked through the doorway. He could see Dean beyond the blur of energy. His brother was standing there, motionless, and looking confused. He had manacles on his wrists and something metal wrapped around his head and he wasn't fighting either.

"Why isn't he fighting?" Sam murmured.

"He doesn't see or feel them," one of the guards answered.

Sam eyed the guard. "How can he not?"

"It's not what he sees or feels," said the guard. "Anyone on the other side of the energy field sees a street of middle-class suburbia."

"Sergeant John Pacosky and Staff Sergeant Steve Ohlman are Winchester's teammates," John told Sam. "Guys, this is Sam Winchester, our Winchester's brother."

"Stanford?" Pacosky asked Sam.

Sam nodded yes. Pacosky must also be a friend if Dean had told him that much.

"Getting back on track, the Ancients excelled at created virtual environments," McKay told Sam. "According to the translation," McKay pointed at the strange writings, "This environment is based on the main subject's worst memories."

"You, Ronon," Sheppard indicated a tall man in dreadlocks, "and Pacosky will go into the machine, find our Winchester and get him to leave. Understood?"

Sam nodded and wanted to shake his brother. Only for Dean would Sam step blind into a potentially horrible hunt. Ronon stepped into the energy field. Immediately, he took on Dean's dazed and confused expression. The headband and the manacles wrapped around Ronon.

"They seem to have no problems getting in and getting out," Sheppard told Sam. "They've done it a couple of times. The scientists seem to think that because this is supposed to be a short term virtual reality…"

"Environment," McKay corrected.

Sheppard ignored him and kept on talking, "everyone is standing instead on lying down. The manacles are to keep you in place in there."

Sam nodded once and didn't show any fear as he stepped into a representation of his brother's nightmares. There was an odd black-blank spot in Sam's awareness and then Sam knew he was I_there_/I, wherever there was.

When Sam opened his eyes, Ronon Dex and John Pacosky were waiting for him. It was night in the middle of suburbia, just as Pacosky had reported. Sam didn't recognize anything. It could be any of a thousand hunts. Figuring out Dean's worst memory couldn't be easy, could it?

Ronon and Pacosky were standing there. Sam was the one who knew the most about Dean.

"Where is Dean?" Ronon demanded. "None of the doors on this street will open to us and we can't kick them down."

Sam pushed by the two men. He spied a clue down the street and started jogging toward the only home he knew: the Impala. The jogging changed into a sprint when it finally dawned on him the Impala was parked in front of I_which_/I house.

No. No. No.

Did Dean really remember . . .?

Sam slid when he tried to stop at the Impala's trunk. He patted his pockets automatically before realizing that this was Dean's dreamworld; they would have limited power here. Miraculously, Sam's hand hit upon the Impala's keys in his jean's pocket. Sam dug them out and opened the trunk. He revealed the weapon's cache beneath the false bottom, grabbed a shotgun and a handful of salt shells, and finished off with an ax and a couple of knives. He ignored the tiny whisper in the back of his head that said that the trunk should not be full of weapons at this early of a date. Ronon looked on approvingly. Pacosky wasn't sure if he was supposed to be stunned or impressed with Dean's civilian brother. Sam hefted the ax and went straight for the front door of I_that_/I house. In seconds, Sam was inside. He ran up the stairs. His father had told the story enough times that Sam had a general layout of his childhood home.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. "Damn it, Dean, answer me!" He didn't want to see this. He hadn't expected this to be Dean's worst memory. His dad's sure, but Dean shouldn't remember this. He shouldn't have seen this. Sam kicked in the door to the nursery. The first thing he noticed was the pretty blond on the ceiling, bleeding, dying, in a perpetual state of fire ignition. This wasn't real, he told himself. It was too late to save her. Twenty-two years too late. Only Dean mattered here.

Then Sam saw little four-year-old Dean. He had climbed up the side of the crib. He was reaching for six-month-old Sammy. Grown up Sam ignored his mother dying and the words of shock and horror from Ronon and Pacosky.

"Dean," Sam leaned so that he was in the little boy's direct line of sight. "This isn't happening. How about I get you out of here?"

"I have to get Sammy out of here."

"Dean."

The boy thrust out his chin in an achingly familiar gesture. "I take care of Sammy. Dad is 'posed to put Sammy in my arms and I run. I don't stop and don't look back. Daddy said so."

"Dean."

"I'm not leaving without Sammy."

Ronon grew tired with the standoff. He stalked forward and with one arm reached in to baby Sammy. With the other arm, Ronon scooped Dean up from the crib railing and set him onto the floor. Dean immediately put his arms out for the baby. God, he was nothing more than a baby himself. Ronon complied with the unspoken demand and four year old Dean held baby Sammy tightly.

"Run, Dean," the man growled. "Don't stop and don't look back."

Dean obeyed. Sam saw the first hints of Dad's 'good little soldier' that he had so despised when he was an angsty teenager. Now he despised himself.

Ronon and Pacosky followed little Dean down the stairs. Sam had to pause. He had to face this too.

He finally said, "I'm sorry, Mom." Only then did he run out of the house. The nursery exploded into flames behind him. The three soldiers (one pint-sized) were waiting outside. Ronon sat on the Impala with Dean and little Sammy in his arms. The fire of this living nightmare lit their faces in some twisted manner. Sam grabbed Pacosky's arm. "You guys told me that we had to break Dean out of the memory. What aren't you telling me?"

Pacosky jerked his arm back. "He's been in that room for I_days_/I trying to save your life. He's just a kid. Maybe five?"

"He's four," Sam corrected. "How do I get my brother back?"

Pacosky turned whiter if that was even possible. "You don't reason with a four year old. We're going to have to talk him through it. We have to get him to the point where we can reason with him. We have to talk to four year old Dean until he grows up."

Sam grit his teeth. He stalked over to Ronon and the boys. He softened as he looked at his brother. Dean was protecting little Sammy so fiercely.

"Dean, my name is Sam."

Dean was silent.

"You are really good at taking care of Sammy."

Dean met his eyes.

"You always were."

Just that fast, the fire, the house, baby Sammy and the Impala disappeared. They were in the middle of a tiny apartment, one of hundreds throughout the United States that had housed the Winchesters. Sam turned and saw a supernatural creature hovering over the little boy in the bed.

"What the hell is I_that_/I?" Pacosky swore.

Sam answered, "I don't recognize it." Was that another young version of himself?

"You mean you I_should_/I?" Dean's friend was uncomfortable with the concept.

"It's a striga," Dean whispered. "A type of witch that feeds off of children."

"How do we kill it, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean reached for a shotgun propped against the doorframe and lifted it to his shoulder. "Have to hit it while…" Dean swallowed hard, "while it's feeding."

Ronon pulled his blaster and aimed. Sam and Pacosky readied their guns. As soon as the striga reached out a hand, much like how the wraith feed, and the men saw the strange glowing, they all fired. Dean fired as well. The striga disappeared. The boy in the bed never stirred.

Ronon put a kind hand on little Dean's shoulder. "You did well, Dean," he said.

Dean's head tilted upward at an alarming speed. "That's not what Dad said."

"What did Dad say," Sam asked curiously, slowly.

"Nothing, but he just looked at me and I knew that he didn't trust me to take care of Sammy anymore. I was supposed to be here and watch Sammy but I went to the arcade for an hour while Sammy was sleeping. Sammy got hurt because of me."

Sam put aside his anger at his father and knelt before his brother. "I trust you to take care of me, Dean."

"You're not my Sammy."

Sam smiled at him. "I go by Sam now. Sammy is a chubby twelve year old kid."

"You're big," Dean said. "You don't need me."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do, you… jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam waited. "You didn't start calling me that until I was in… third grade, I think. Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean responded and this time, he looked older. Early-teen, at least.

"Are you going to get yourself out of this dream world?" Sam taunted. "Or am I going to have to pick you up and carry you out like a girl." Obviously he would have to be aggressive to get Dean's attention.

Dean changed his stance and looked Sam in his eyes. Now Dean was almost eighteen. "Just try it. You haven't beat me at hand to hand, since… ever."

"If anyone is fighting Dean, it should be me," Ronon butted into the conversation. "I win."

Dean turned to look at Ronon and comprehension dawned. Sam watched as Dean's face and body matured into that of hard-bodied Marine. "Hey, Dean," Sam said.

Dean looked from Ronon to Sam, confused. "Where are we? You two have never met."

"We're in an Ancient device in the middle of the Pegasus Galaxy," Sam answered. "General O'Neill sent me all the way out here to pull your sorry ass out of the fire. Can we leave now?"

"Sure," Dean looked around. "Which way is out?"

"We're in your head," Pacosky finally said. "You have to make the door."

Dean faced the new grey landscape of nothing and suddenly a door appeared. To Sam, it looked like the door into Uncle Bobby's house. Dean opened the door and stepped out of the dreamworld and onto the planet in the Pegasus Galaxy. Pacosky and Ronon immediately followed. Sam took one last look around and then stepped out into the sun.

Unfortunately, Dean's body hadn't had enough nutrients while in the dream state so he hit the ground as soon as he was awake. Sheppard and Ohlman hurried everyone into the jumper and back to Atlantis. Sam spent his first full night in the Ancient city sleeping in the uncomfortable chairs in the infirmary, waiting for his brother to wake up.

Dean woke up in the infirmary. He growled with displeasure. He didn't even remember why he was here this time. He better figure it out in a hurry, or he would be spending even more time in this hated place.

"And Sleeping Beauty awakes," a familiar voice drawled.

Dean turned to the voice, a welcoming smile already on his lips. Then he tried to match Sammy up with the Atlantis infirmary and a connection in his head shorted out. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, jerk."

"You look good, Sammy." And he did look good, relaxed and fit. "What are you doing here?"

"The name's Sam," his baby brother bit out. "And you, damsel, needed rescued."

"Why did they bring you in? We've got battalions of Marines here for rescues. What are you doing in Atlantis?" Dean was beginning to feel like a broken record.

"None of them knew anything about your true history or how to fight your worst memories."

Dean slid his eyes to the side. Was that why he had been dreaming about his mother? Sudden he remembered the 'Shaman's Test' and knew this was going to suck.

Sam leaned forward, all earnest, like I_Dean_/I was a witness that he needed to cajole into telling them the outlandish truth. "Why did you never tell me?" Sam knew what specifically he was talking about and knew that Dean would be able to read his expression. Dean could as if they had never been separated.

"It didn't matter."

"Yes, it does. She's my mother too."

Dean glared at his brother. "Convenient for you to remember that now! You said very different things just before you stormed out and ran off to Stanford."

"If you would have told me beforehand, I wouldn't have mentioned it!"

"So it's alright to use Mom's death against Dad, but not against me?"

"You were four. Dad was an adult. He should have grieved in a healthier manner."

"You're frickin' killing me, Sam. You are arguing that Dad's grief had to logical!"

A gentle clearing of the throat stopped the argument in its tracks. Dean looked up and saw Dr. Weir, Dr. Beckett and Dr. Heightmeyer. "And my day has just gone to hell in a hand basket."

None of them looked insulted, though Sam was looking scandalized.

"If you upset my patient," Beckett warned Sam, "I will have you removed."

"It's all right," Dean was quick to say.

"I'll behave, Dr. Beckett," Sam promised. He nodded at the director, "Dr. Weir." Of course, he would have met them already.

Weir motioned to the other woman. "Sam, this is Doctor Kate Heightmeyer."

Sam stood and shook her hand across Dean's bed. Frickin' long arms there, Stretch. Dean watched Heightmeyer observe Sammy not be intimidating with his size. Sam could loom as easily as Ronon but rarely chose to. "She's the shrink," he filled in helpfully.

And instead of closing down like any other Hunter Dean knew, Sammy actually brightened. "I'm delighted to see that this command is committed to their people's psychological health as well as their physical, ma'am. I'm Sam Winchester."

Dean rolled his eyes and muttered, "suck up," quietly.

Heightmeyer smiled, "I'm glad to hear that, Sam. So you won't mind joining some of our sessions before you leave."

"No, ma'am."

Dean addressed Weir. "I don't have time for a shrink in my schedule."

"You do now," she replied. "Lorne has your new schedule."

"Aye and you won't be leaving that bed for a day," Beckett added. "Kate can talk to you here."

"Doc!" Dean protested.

Weir glared at him. "Sergeant Winchester, whatever your psychological… hang-ups are, they trapped you in the piece of Ancient technology and we can't have that happen again. You haven't finished your job in Atlantis, we won't let you go that easily. You're meeting with Heightmeyer daily, until she says otherwise. Is that understood?"

Dean knew that he couldn't dodge this order. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good." She nodded sharply. "Then I will be leaving you in Kate and Carson's capable hands. Get better soon, Dean. You have to return to My'arria to accept the ZPM." She left, ignoring Sam's glare.

Heightmeyer looked to Beckett. "When can we begin?"

"Later today," Beckett insisted. "First we have to examine Winchester." He looked at Sam. "Why don't you walk down to the kitchen and eat. We'll be done with your brother by time you get back."

Sam met Dean's eyes. Acceptance, even willingness. Dean might not like it but he wasn't going to fight Beckett at least. "Bring me back some pie," Dean ordered.

Sam double-checked with Beckett. "A small piece of pie," the physician conditioned.

Sam knocked his knuckles once again Dean's bed and walked out with Heightmeyer, already chatting. Dean took a deep breath to ready himself for Beckett's examination. It wasn't going to be as bad as normal.

Sam was here. Even a shrink couldn't make this day bad.

Jessica Moore accepted the thin package from Colonel Davis, the same man who had told the university that Sam was going to be gone for more time than originally planned. He smiled at her as told her that this was a message from her boyfriend. Right in front of the stranger, she ripped the package open to reveal a DVD. Jess hurried until she got the DVD working and the TV turned on.

She didn't relax until she saw Sam's face smiling at her. "Hi Jess, I got here safe and sound and it was touch and go with Dean for a little while, but he's better now." Jessica frowned. Than why wasn't Sam home? And where was Sam? She didn't gather any clues from the purposefully non-descript background.

"But due to Dean's convalescence and that part of this was caused by our rather turbulent, unresolved history, the director of the base has insisted that Dean get some therapy." Sam sighed and surprisingly enough, it was a happy one. Why was Sam using lawyer words? "I have wanted Dean to speak to psychologist since I was eight and knew what they were and how they could help. We have issues from our childhood."

Jessica had figured that, but Sam had refused to speak of them.

"Dr. Heightmeyer is really good and she asked for me to stay and help, since I'm more communicative than Dean about it."

Since when? Or was Dean even worse? What was worse than total silence?

"Jess, I know that this seems like a silly reason to stay in a war zone, but I have wanted… healing for so long that I'm taking advantage of this. Don't worry. The director refuses to let me off base, not even to see Dean's work."

The director should be court-martialed for even considering it. Why the hell was Sam asking to get off a base in the middle of a war zone? Sam always played it safe, didn't he?

"I'll be home safe and sound before too long and with the hope that Dean will be stopping by on his leave."

I"_Sammy_!"/I someone yelled off camera.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You might not think that Dean and I patching our relationship is a good thing, or even a halfway decent reason to stay. Hell, I'm probably going to regret it 'cause I'm sure that Dean will say something crass and obscene the first time he meets you like he does every other pretty girl…"

"Hey, Sammy. Quit giving your girl a bad impression of me and let's go. We have a poker tournament to win."

Sam's eyes were tracking his unseen brother. He looked at ease and happy and Jess was suddenly very worried and not for Sam's health. "Do you want to say 'hi'?"

"Dude, I never could think of anything to say to you when we get the chance to send messages, what the hell would I say to some chick I've never met?"

Sam smiled at the camera one last time. "Love you, Jess, and I'll see you soon."

The video suddenly faded to black and Jess sat there, numb. What did this mean?

She jumped when the TV screen lightened again and a strange man sat down in front of the camera. He looked thin and bruised and his long sleeve shirt didn't quite hide the bandages around his wrists. Jess suddenly felt two inches tall. No one had said that Dean had been captured and tortured, but it sure looked like it.

"Hey, I mean Hi Jess. My name is Dean and I'm Sammy's brother. Now I sound like I'm at an AA meeting or some shit like that. Uh… sorry. I'd erase this and try again but this is already my third time. If I met you in a bar, I could probably talk you into my bed, 'specially if you really are as hot as the picture in Sam's wallet."

Jess blinked. Yeah, Dean was hot, but she couldn't see jumping in bed with him, even if she wasn't Sam's girlfriend. It was odd listening to someone this bluntly honest. Why was this man having a problem with a shrink? Or was he just trying to keep his brother with him?

"Dude, you know that you are totally out of Sammy's league, right? In case you didn't guess, I don't do good with anyone long term. Sammy was always trying to make friends and I was always trying to get laid. Kate, that's our shrink, says that I have abandonment issues and refuse to let anyone get close enough to hurt." He looked a little startled. "Huh, maybe I should answer all her stupid questions like this in private… anyway. Uh… Sammy'll be home soon, if I have to hog tie him and toss him… onto a transport. You take care of him? Please? It's always been my job, but he's looking happy, so you must be better at it than me."

Jess wondered if Dean was seeing the same Sam she was, because Sam in the previous part of the video was pretty satisfied and content and very, very happy.

"When –if Sam proposes, don't let him wait until I get to the States to get married. You grab him right up. No use waiting for something that might never happen."

Jess was stunned. Blunt. Honest. Dean was… not done.

"You take care of my boy, okay?"

I_My Boy_/I. Sam hadn't mentioned that Dean had basically raised him, but Dean had a father's pride for Sam. Dean was heartbreaking. He loved Sam so much.

"And please don't show this to Sam unless he's trying to put off the wedding on account of me. Please? He'd tease me forever at the literal chick flick moment." Dean glanced at his watch. "Hell, five minutes. Well, bye Jess, maybe someday we'll meet in person."

Dean didn't make promises that he couldn't follow through on. This time when the video ended, Jess was confused and scared and maybe she understood just a little bit more. She would wait and see.

That was all she could do: wait and see.

She suddenly felt a hell of a lot more solidarity and empathy for all the significant others of those in the military. When Sam returned, he was never, ever going to visit Dean outside of the United States again.

All this worrying was for the birds.

She didn't know who to talk to about Sam's absence, but found a willing ear in Brian Quaid, a quasi-friend of Sam's. Jess had never really spoken to Brian before since he was so quiet, but Brian asked her more than any other of their friends if Sam was doing alright and when Sam was going to return. When Jess finally admitted that Sam's absence could go on for a while, Brian promised her that he would make some calls and would move things along.

Jess was so happy that someone else was on her side that she gave Brian a big hug. Brian didn't blush nearly as much as Jess thought he would. Maybe Brian was growing up as well.

The next day, Brian turned up dead. Sweet Brian was dead and without any obvious cause? The coroner said that it had happened weeks ago, but every one on campus knew better. The student body sent around a petition to replace the coroner with someone who knew how to do his job.

Why did things have to fall apart while Sam was away? Jess wanted Sam home and she wanted Sam home now.

While the first twenty-four hours in the Pegasus Galaxy had been fraught with worry, now Sam was practically on vacation. He caught up with Ash, and had that been a surprise familiar face. Sam agreed that Ash didn't have enough hunting experience to have even attempted to walk into Dean's nightmare via the Shaman's Test. As back-up, Ash sucked. As research, Ash rocked. That was just how things worked and Sam wasn't mad that he had been dragged all the way to Pegasus when Ash was already 'in town.' No, it was totally worth it. Sam and Dean had a standing appointment with Heightmeyer at 0800. By 1000hrs, Kate was frustrated with them and sent them to Beckett, where the Scotsman chided Dean for a good half hour. Dean hated these tests almost as much as the shrink time.

Sam would con his brother into a footrace, with increasing distances as Dean's health improved. The run would help Dean dispel his frustration. 1100hrs would be an early lunch. Most of the times, they would just pick something up and take it to the experimental jumper bay. Dean and Ash would work on the weapons platform and Sam would read the books from Missouri. Dean had asked him to find some more protective sigils and wards for Atlantis. The Marine was sick and tired of the Seal of Solomon and its affect on his health. He had already painted some Devil's traps, but preferred the stronger signs.

Sam had painted the Seal on several of the jumper ramps and while Dean said that he felt the energy from them, they didn't have the power of Dean's. Sam thought that there was a feedback loop with Atlantis herself, but since Atlantis hated Sam, she couldn't do the same for him.

Yes, the city of Atlantis was almost sentient and belligerence was its predominant feeling toward Sam.

Ash thought it was funny that Atlantis hated a person as much as she hated him. Sam had to make sure that he matched his brother step for step as they wandered the city –which granted, was rarely a problem. If there was enough space for a door to shut between the brothers, the door would shut. And Atlantis would not open any door for Sam. Sam had a sneaking suspicion that even if he got the ATA gene therapy, Atlantis would not cooperate with him. The gene therapy had not been offered, not unless Sam had signed on the dotted line to join the expedition. Sam couldn't do that; he had his life on Earth still.

Some moments, he did think about staying. He loved seeing Dean with real friends and in a place where he was valued.

Since the My'arrians would only hand the ZPM over to the Shaman, Weir sent Dean off-planet as soon as Beckett and Heightmeyer said he could go. Dean tried not to be embarrassed while surrounded by both his team and the first contact team. Dean decided then and there that he never wanted to be President, the Secret Service would have driven him I_nuts_/I. Sam wasn't thrilled at being left behind but Weir (and Sheppard) were not going to cave to his pleading and plaintive looks nor his arguments about being there once before.

Dean got it done as soon as possible; he had plans that didn't involve getting dragged to Weir's office every time Sam wanted to plead his case.

My'arria was oddly anticlimactic. They came, the My'arrians saw that Dean was still alive. The natives handed over the ZPM and then they returned. Sheppard even had let Dean drive Jumper 17 and didn't comment when the jumper crooned Motorhead the whole time. If Sammy had been allowed to come, it would have been a perfect mission.

"I'm glad you're here," Pacosky admitted to Sam at lunch. "Dean doesn't even notice that I'm avoiding him because I'm having problems with his memories."

Sam shrugged. "Dean's pretty sure that your Seal will get stronger once you accept what happened."

Pacosky stared and then winced. "So he has noticed."

"Sure, but he doesn't blame you. The striga and the demon that killed our mother are only the two worst memories for Dean. I would have had different ones. Growing up, we met many different people who crossed the supernatural. Most tried to forget as soon as we drove out of town."

"I'm not going to forget," Pacosky said intently. "I want to beat the hell out of your father though."

"Join the club."

"Dean's getting better?"

"Dean's good."

"I figured that he had to be close since Weir let him go back to My'arria." Pacosky looked down at the table. "I have a meeting scheduled with Heightmeyer."

Sam smiled. This Marine was a good enough friend to go to a shrink voluntarily. "Good. She's excellent."

Fighting with Ronon could be fun if one didn't mind bruises and occasionally blood. For some reason, Ronon seemed to be aiming for John's nose more than usual. John had no idea why, but it was getting predictable. John had been able to get in a few more good jabs to his opponent's stomach. Ronon had just taken it. In fact, the big man had left his stomach exposed yet again and this time, when John jabbed in, Ronon knocked him across the face.

He got that bloody nose after all.

Ronon rung his bell but good. John vaguely remembered Sam Winchester being there and holding a handkerchief to his nose but then he was in the infirmary and Carson was chiding him. Had Winchester been there? Or had John replaced one tall fighter with the other in his dazed state?

John ran to the infirmary as soon as he got the news: Ronon and Pacosky had been found unconscious surrounded by a painted Seal in one of the hallways leading to the ZPM chamber. Winchester had been behaving himself –for once. He had been working on the puddlejumper weapons platform.

Beckett examined the two men and declared that they had symptoms similar to Winchester's after he worked on a Seal. John sent Rodney and the Winchesters to the hallway to investigate the new Seal. Both parties agreed that it was strong enough to keep a wraith captive. Or they were as sure as they could be without testing it.

Winchester –Dean, not Sam- showed up in the infirmary just as the two men were waking. Beckett chided Pacosky on his lack of witnesses. In between teasing the two men, Dean reminded them that the orders just said that someone with an affinity for the Seal had to practice with someone who didn't. Up until now, Ronon had been uselessly scribbling the strange symbols with the rest of them.

John wondered about what the My'arria report was missing. The camaraderie between the three men had increased. Ronon's report had been brief, as usual. Pacosky and Winchester's report had not seemed rehearsed, but now John wondered if they had compared notes. He wondered if he should pursue it or let it slide.

For now, he would let it slide.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Elizabeth was surprised to see Sergeant Winchester knocking on her office door. It was the first time he had showed up of his own volition. She set aside her work with a welcoming smile. "Dean, is everything satisfactory with your brother?"

"Everything's good. Sam's good," Dean said with an honest smile. "I've got a request."

"Yes?"

Dean hemmed for a moment more. "Can we launch the weapon's platform before he leaves?"

Elizabeth blinked. "Is it complete?"

"The platform? Yeah. Or almost. A couple more short nights to debug everything and we're good to go. We won't have any drone-based space mines, but it won't be much of a hassle to drop them off up there later." Winchester looked a little white as he added. "I'd do it myself if that was what was needed." Even Elizabeth knew that Winchester hated the vertical part of the puddlejumpers. He always flew as close to the planet as feasible.

"Even so, you're done two months early, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "Ash was faster rewriting the system than I gave him credit for and I've had enough infirmary time to know what order to change the jumper and enough light duty when I couldn't do anything else." In other words, he gave himself two extra months to get the job done so that he wouldn't ever be 'behind schedule' no matter the reports that he had been submitting to the upper brass.

"McKay is going to want to check the platform over beforehand," Elizabeth warned.

"Can he do it the night before Sam leaves? I can probably give him twelve hours that way. And I'd like Zelenka to be there."

"I can promise Zelenka, but Dean, if Rodney says it's not ready, I'm going to have to trust my chief scientist."

"I know, but I think it is."

"Very well. I will inform Rodney and Radek of the schedule. Have you given some thoughts to the problem of puddlejumpers ignoring other pilots once you've worked on them? How will John be able to launch the platform?"

"I'm pretty sure that I have a solution for that. I just need the colonel to spend every lunch sitting at the controls between now and then," Dean seemed confident that his plan would work. Elizabeth was sure that Winchester was hiding something but she couldn't image what.

"All right. I will inform him as well."

"Thank you ma'am." Dean smiled at her and Elizabeth had to smile in response.

"It's my pleasure," she told him honestly. "I'll pencil in the weapon platform launch two hours before our normal check-in with Earth and we will play it by ear. I hope that everything falls into place."

"Me too," admitted Dean. "Until that time, I'm spending every spare second working on it."

"Very good." Elizabeth waited a moment more, just in case Dean had other important news to impart. He was silent. "You're dismissed, Sergeant. And good luck."

Dean saluted and was gone.

Dean placed the open book on top on the research Sam had been working on. Sam glanced over the page and then up to his embarrassed brother. "Yes, Dean?"

"I want to draw that on your back. The ink will wash off before you have to return to Earth, but the protection should hold."

Sam pulled the book close and flipped to the front. "Where did you get this from?"

"Missouri."

"She picked up something from O'Neill."

"No surprise there."

"I bet it surprised O'Neill."

Dean grinned. "It did. He wrote me a message about keeping OpSec… even from psychics."

Sam laughed.

"So about the protection symbol?" Dean reminded him.

"Is it going to knock you out like the Seal did?"

"I doubt it." Dean wasn't meeting his eyes and Sam knew that Dean was hoping that it would, that it would draw the energy from his body like the Seal obviously did.

"I don't like this."

"So? That doesn't mean that we shouldn't do it."

"Give me one good reason why I should."

"I plan on putting one on my weapons platform and this would be good practice."

Sam didn't agree to that one. "Not good enough. No, Dean, you are not allowed to put that symbol on me, not if it's going to hurt you."

"It'll only tire me a bit. That's not hurt. It's worth it."

"No, Dean. It's not."

Surprisingly enough, Dean let the argument drop.

Sam woke up in the infirmary. "That son of a bitch. He Irooffied/I me."

Beckett looked down at him. "Aye. He did."

Sam tried to remember everything he had consumed and frowned. He supposed that Dean could have gotten help from the Marines in charge of the kitchen, but the drink that Ronon had offered him was the most suspicious. "Athos wine, my ass."

"Was that what Dean used?" Beckett asked mildly.

Sam might like the Scottish doctor but he was going to deal with Dean on his own. And Ronon. He frowned. Hadn't Ronon just left the wine between the two brothers and then left? "Who called the medical team?"

"Pacosky. Just happened by the experimental puddlejumper lab after it was all done." Beckett didn't sound like he believed his own words.

If Pacosky hadn't been in on the original plan, Sam would eat his shorts. They had all conspired against him. Or rather, they had all conspired for Dean. He knew that he didn't matter much to the two men. Ronon and Pacosky had helped Dean because they were his friends.

"How much damage did the jerk do to himself?"

Beckett motioned to the gurney next to Sam. "Exhaustion, again. He shows every indication of waking soon and being up and abo't for tomorrow's lift-off."

"The jerk." Sam assured himself with Dean's even breathing. "It was the last thing on his list. Wasn't it?"

Beckett nodded. "He had sent Rodney an e-mail saying that he could begin beta-testing. If Pacosky hadn't found them, Rodney and his team would have."

"I am going to beat him black and blue," Sam muttered.

Beckett chuckled. "Brothers are like that."

"Self-sacrificing idiot." Sam started musing. "Hmmm, Heightmeyer should be informed of that tendency."

Beckett was impressed. "I would not want to get on your bad side, young man. You hit in people's blind spot."

Sam tried to look innocent, but Beckett wasn't buying it. "I suppose I should have expected it. You are the Winchester in pre-law." Beckett patted his arm. "Rest. I'll release you in a couple hours and you can plot your revenge."

Sam was tired. He stifled a yawn. He could afford to rest now. He would check Dean's art on his back when he was feeling more awake. It had better wash off as promised. If not, he would explain it as a practical joke to Jess.

Dean was strangely more nervous about the weapon platform's launch than he had been about McKay beta-testing the programming. If Ash had been nervous, he hadn't shown it, but he had been completely sober all week. Ash's programming had passed with flying colors. Rodney had actually complimented it and made noises about some other programming jobs that Ash might be able to do. Of course, Dean had been asleep for most of Rodney's talking.

The lucky jerk.

Sam had had another long talk with Heightmeyer and though she was suspicious of his motives, she did agree that the situation needed looked into. Dean would find out about that at his next session.

Sam bumped shoulders with his brother. "It'll work. I helped you, remember."

Dean smirked and relaxed. He had hidden the hanky with John Sheppard's blood in the crystals. No one would find it. Between the blood and the time that Sheppard had spent in the renovated puddlejumper, this should work.

"Work, damn you," he whispered to the weapons platform.

"Sheppard to Winchester," Sheppard called over the earwig.

"Winchester here."

"I'm in the Chair. Weapons platform launch in ten."

"Understood," Dean answered. He patted the jumper and mentally told it to close the bay door. It closed and locked. Dean brushed against the Seal painted on the exterior of the jumper. A matching Seal was also painted on the inside of the bay door. Dean was taking no chances; only a good guy would be able to get inside to change the programming of the platform. "Weapons platform ready for launch. Over and out." Everything was put away. There was nothing left for him to do here. "If we run to the Chair room, Sheppard will have the heads-up display on and we'll be able to see everything," Dean told Sam.

Sam was already heading for the door. "What are we waiting for?" The two ran to the Chair room and if Sheppard had procrastinated the launch for them, no one mentioned it.

Dean and Sam and even Ash held their breath as Sheppard launched the weapons platform into the atmosphere. All eyes were glued to the heads-up display.

"It has achieved a stable orbit over Atlantis," Dr. Zelenka announced.

McKay agreed, "It's a success."

"Congratulations," Weir told Dean. She was only the first one to say those words to Dean. Sam stood and basked in his brother's glory.

The grin Dean sent him from across the room was blinding.

Sam gathered up the last of his belongings –he had packed everything before the weapons platform had been launched into the atmosphere- and had to smile. He was leaving with so much more than he had come, material and otherwise. Dean clapped a hand on his back. He was tired but triumphant. He had every reason to be so. "Are you ready? Dial-up is in about twenty minutes."

"I'm ready."

"You know, if you really wanted to stay, I'm sure Jack could work it out for you," Dean offered. He knew that Sam would never accept but he had to let his brother know that it was an option.

"Jack?" Sam repeated, deliberately changing the subject.

"General O'Neill," Dean corrected as he rolled his eyes.

"You're on a first name basis with an Air Force General," Sam realized. "It's not just because he likes you. You two have spent some time together."

Dean shrugged and hefted Sam's duffle bag and walked out of the room. Sam had to hurry to catch up. "Don't worry, Samantha," Dean teased. "It's not like we're going steady or anything. No need to get jealous."

"How did you and I_Jack_/I get to be such good friends?"

"I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you," Dean sighed playfully.

"You mean that there are I_more_/I crazy secrets floating around our government?"

Dean stopped and looked at him. "I'm sure there are, but that's not what I meant. It's a Dad thing and since I don't want you dragging my ass to go see Heightmeyer now, when you are about to leave, we are not going to get into it now."

Sam grabbed Dean's arm. "What did Dad do?"

Dean shook him off and plowed ahead. "It doesn't matter now. For all intents and purposes, he shoved me onto Atlantis. There. Happy?" Dean stepped into a lift and Sam hurried to follow. At least the city was cooperating. A week ago or even yesterday, Atlantis would have closed the doors before Sam could join Dean on the lift.

"Do you think Atlantis knows I'm leaving?" Sam asked idly.

Dean's eyes shuttered. The answer was 'yes.'

Sam had to grin. "I guess Atlantis really doesn't like me."

Dean shrugged.

"I suppose that I can learn to share with a city, you just have to teach a city to share with me. I hear from Ronon and Pacosky that you are a great teacher."

Dean shoved him. "Shut up. Your wormhole's waiting."

The lift doors opened and Sam and Dean walked in step towards the gateroom. Dean paused just before. "You take care of yourself, you hear me, Sammy?"

"How can I not since I'm protected by the great Shaman Dean?"

"I'm serious, Sammy."

Sam sobered. "I know. I'll start laying down salt and sleeping with a knife in reach. I'll figure out a way around Jess. I will be careful. But I'm not the one walking into death traps."

"It wasn't a death trap," Dean immediately protested. "It was something else and I have a city full of people to back me up, even if most of them don't believe. You don't have that back up. You have to do it all yourself."

"You also have the city-herself," Sam reminded. "You're in strange galaxy full of man eating space vampires. I'm on a safe campus. I'm safer, Dean, admit it. I'll take precautions, I promise. Just… You too." Sam skipped past the awkward moment to drag his brother in for a hug. He squeezed hard. "Be safe."

"You too," the words were muffled in his jacket.

"Weir to Winchester, come in Winchester." Both of their earwigs were filled with Weir's voice. They released each other and tapped their earwigs in unison, "Winchester to Weir."

"We're dialing the wormhole in five minutes."

"Acknowledged," they said. "Over and out."

Sam took his duffle away from Dean and smiled. "I'm glad that you are here, Dean. This is where you belong."

Dean rolled his eyes and took the first stepped into the gateroom. "You better not turn into a girl and start crying at the end of the story."

"I'm not the sissy who's been in the infirmary, what is it, six times since you arrived? I hear you are almost as bad as the first contact team."

"Oh no," John Sheppard stepped into the conversation with a grin. "Your brother is much worse. At least I_I_/I have a scientific reason for ending up on the ground. Winchester never has a good excuse." John shook Sam's hand. "Thanks for coming though. We don't like losing our people."

"Thank you for keeping an eye on my brother," Sam said in response. "He needs it."

Dean quietly protested and Sam shook the hands of his brother's other friends. Dean had a lot of friends and Sam was still saying his goodbyes as the wormhole dialed. Last minute, he took out his earwig and handed it to Ronon.

Sam turned to catch Dean's eye. Dean smiled and waved. Sam waved back and then took the one giant step back to Earth.

For right now, this was how it was supposed to be.

The End


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue:

Jack O'Neill was tired. Granted the week wasn't as bad as it could have been, but still, Stargate Command was never easy. When he opened his fridge for a beer, even though he knew that he hadn't bought any for a while, he was surprised to see the fridge full.

"Bribery, Winchester?" he called out.

John Winchester stepped out of the shadows. He looked like hell too.

"You're not welcome here," Jack reminded him.

"I just," Winchester faltered. "I just need to hear that my boys are good."

"What happened to you," Jack challenged.

"Demon," he said succinctly. "Following around Sam's girl. They're still interested in my boy for some reason."

Sounded like Winchester had had a 'Stargate Command' week. Jack went back into the fridge and pulled out a six-pack of beers. He set them on the table and sat down. John joined him. "My boys," he asked again.

"You're boys are good. I assume you know that Sam's home now?"

John nodded once. Jack took a sip of beer and remembered that while the parental bird did kick the baby out of the nest, it wasn't because he didn't love his offspring.


End file.
